


The Hubris of Byleth Blaiddyd

by mitsuboo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, F/M, Feral Dimitri, Fluff and Angst, Marriage Proposal, Pining, Romance, This was not supposed to be a serious story but here we are, but they're married, dimitri hates everybody but byleth, lots of chaotic energy, sarcastic byleth, someones going to die OF FUN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 135,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsuboo/pseuds/mitsuboo
Summary: Byleth awakens a month before the Millennium Festival, meets a madman on the run, and somehow convinces him to marry her.She's quite persuasive in that way.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 403
Kudos: 763





	1. The Proposal, Regret, and Death of Byleth Eisner

_To let me dangle at a cruel angle_

_Oh, my feet don't touch the floor_

_Sometimes you're half in and then you're half out_

_But you never close the door_

_What kind of man loves like this?_

_\- 'What Kind of Man' Florence + The Machine_

* * *

**Imperial Year 1180**

**Garreg Mach Monastery**

  
  


“You are a very cruel man, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd."

Yes, he supposed he was. But it was not as if he wanted to be. It was not as if he had entered this conversation with the intention to disappoint, to trick her, to break her heart. He was better than that, or he thought he was, at least. He liked to _think_ that he was. 

A cruel man. The look in her eyes told him that she was correct. He was very, very cruel. 

“I truly am sorry, Byleth.” It was all he could manage to speak with the hurricane of regret that circled his mind. He felt that he could dissolve into the ground below, like a puddle. Perhaps he could live his life as a dandelion growing between the cracks in the pavement, soaking up sun and unaware of the hardships of love. That sounded far more nice than this situation he had so thoughtlessly tossed himself into.

His professor, his moon and stars that he thought he'd never have, refused to look at him. Her silence spoke louder than any words she could’ve possibly said. Once again, he found himself reaching, stretching, trying to grasp for a way to put a bandage on the wound he created. “I’m sorry.” It was a disappointing apology, and not even close to what Byleth deserved.

“Don’t say that again,” it was the closest thing to snappy that Byleth had ever been with him. She refused to look at him, instead glaring out of the window as if the expanse of Garreg Mach below had done her a personal wrong. The air was chilly at the top of the Goddess Tower, yet it’s bite proved nothing compared to the winds of Faerghus, which in turn proved warm compared to the cold shoulder Byleth wore this night.

Yet, she had a right to be cold. She had all the right in the world to treat him however she wished.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had proposed marriage to her. On one knee, ring in hand, eyes full of love. 

And then realized what he was doing, and promptly took it back.

Proposals didn’t usually go like that, he realized. Perhaps he should’ve brought flowers to lessen the sting of disappointment. 

Sighing, he moved to stand beside her. His hands rested on the stone ledge of the window, a spot where so many promises of love had been made before. The ground below them was abuzz with the excitement from the ball, and Dimitri thought he could spot a couple having a moment in a corner of the courtyard. They were having a much better time at romance than he was. The cold metal of the ring nestled in his palm stung as a reminder. It urged him, prodding and poking until he opened his mouth to dig his grave even further, “I just… You know…”

He wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say, but he knew that he should say _something_. Byleth glanced at him, her face calm and emotionless. 

A deep breath, a shuddering sigh. The words were at the forefront of his mind, on the tip of his tongue, forced out in a strangled, anxious manner. “Professor... you deserve a better future than the one I have to offer you.”

He wondered if he even had anything to offer in the first place. A life of revenge, where she would take second place after the ghosts of his past. That was so far removed from what she deserved. Her expression cracked, showing the true emotions underneath the mask. Byleth was angry, seething, barely composing herself as she gripped the edge of the window and furrowed her brows, “Then _why_ did you propose to me in the first place?”

An utter lack of self control? Pure passion and emotion for the woman he loved? He just really wanted to get an A+ on his finals? 

None of those excuses would work. Byleth could see right through him, she always knew when he was lying. Despite his complete obliviousness to the ways of love, he would try to give the answer that he deemed would satiate her the most, “I’m stupid.”

He was so sure that would work, that it would be the water to extinguish her fire. And it was the honest truth. It _was_ incredibly stupid of him to drop to one knee and propose to his professor on impulse. It may not have been the pure reason for his actions, but it was an explanation. And a perfectly sound one at that. 

Byleth's eyes narrowed, “Oh, so it’s _stupid_ to want to marry me?”

His heart skipped a beat. Backtracking, he tensed and held up his hand in defense, “N-No! It would be the best decision of my life, of course!”

“Obviously _not_ ,” she hissed, a rare show of passion, “because you took it back.”

The ring had not even been put on her finger. He had not even been on one knee for more than five seconds. He had barely uttered out the words 'Will you marry me?' before he promptly stood, cheeks red, and informed her that he was not serious at all. He hoped that she would think it was a distasteful joke - and of course she did not. Byleth was far too intelligent to be tricked by his stuttered explanations and nonsensical ramblings. 

It began to dawn on him that flowers may not have made the situation better. 

“I was just…” distressed, he ran his fingers through his hair, “I just feel… so dearly for you.” He looked at her now, wishing that she would look back, “I’m telling the truth, I feel so much for you, I cannot even express myself properly, professor. But, I also am telling the truth when I say that you deserve so much more than I could ever give.”

What a contradiction, with him being the future king of Faerghus. He could’ve given her the world materially, yet emotionally was an entirely different matter. 

He went on, “For so many years, all I’ve ever thought about was vengeance. That’s been my entire life. I live it, I breathe it. You’re too good for the likes of me,” he pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, and her stony expression wavered at his soft touch against her skin, “I have a goal I need to reach, and until that is over, I cannot be the partner you deserve.”

Oftentimes, it shocked him that she was even his professor. She was so young, her cheeks round and eyes wide, so much shorter than him even when three years his senior. Her wisdom, her mind, though, proved aged far past her appearance. He appreciated it all so much, even daring to admit to himself that he loved her. 

He loved her like life itself.

Yet, he would not _tell_ her that right now. He could not put that cherry on top of the sundae of pain that he’d made. Her expression had already melted away into something so positively heartbroken.

“I know,” she finally responded, voice soft, “and I won’t hold you back from getting that.”

As grateful for her understanding that he was, he mourned the lost opportunity. The opportunity he had presented, then thrown away once he gained control of his emotions. He wondered, if he had given her the time to answer before taking back his proposal, would she have said yes? Was she angry out of hurt, or because he was so presumptuous to ask for her hand in the first place? 

Boldly, feeling that she would allow it, he leaned in and rested his hand on the back of her head, kissing her forehead. 

“I don’t mean to sound desperate,” she began as he rested his chin on the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her waist, with her melting into his touch as if she was born to be held by him, “but what about _after_ you get your vengeance?”

He thought for a moment. “I’ll probably be dead.”

She proved unfazed by his honesty, “What if you’re not?”

He had always imagined himself giving his life for the dead. He could not even grasp what it would be like to be mentally sound, to not hear their calls. He played a good part, had a good poker face, yet they had clawed at him for so long. Being haunted was all he knew. It was only when he began falling in love with Byleth that marriage and a happy life had even crossed his mind. She was unaware of the power she held, yet not even _her_ influence could erase the ghosts that controlled him. 

“How do you want me to answer, professor?” He had proposed to the woman, yet he still called her professor. Perhaps that was proof enough that the two should not be wed. 

She pulled back, looking up at him with his hands still resting on her waist, “Let’s say hypothetically, if you lived. You’ve gotten your vengeance, and everything is at peace. What about then?”

Unimaginable. He’d never been that creative. “I-I don’t know. I suppose I would rule Faerghus as best as I could.”

“Would you ever marry?”

“You?”

“Anyone.”

“It would be _you_ , of course,” the answer was natural, immediate, “I would marry you in an instant. We’d have ten children, and I would kiss you every day.”

“You’ve never even kissed me now.”

He felt his cheeks heat up, and thanked the cover of the night sky for disguising his blotchy redness to her. “I-I’m speaking hypothetically.”

She was endless, wide eyes and full lips firing her flustering questions, “You promise that you’d marry me? If you still had feelings for me at that time?”

He found himself speaking before thinking of the consequences once again, the same lack of self control that had made him drop to one knee in the first place. She stole his thoughts, made him toss his reason out the window and give into sweet impulse. “It would be impossible for me to _not_ feel so strongly for you.” 

A pause. She stared at him. His hands still rested on her hips, though he felt his palms growing sweaty with the stress of the conversation. It was all hypothetical, and entirely nonsense, as he was sure that he would be dead after gaining his vengeance. A life without the taunting of ghosts? It was merely a stupid dream, and he had no interest in entertaining a hypothesis.

Finally, she stepped out of his grip. Her hair was loose, and it became a curtain to cover her face as she turned away, “Tomorrow, I’m going to be the professor, and you’ll be my student, and we’ll forget this conversation happened.”

It sounded good enough, though she had always been so much more than his professor. His best friend, his confidant, the woman he saw in his daydreams. It hurt that he was losing that, but he knew it would be for the best. 

He had proposed to her after all. Students were not usually allowed to propose to their teachers. 

“Agreed,” he forced his heart to agree as well, pushing away every conflicting emotion in his chest, “And if I ever do become good enough for you, I hope that you would have me then.”

She now looked at him, “Is that a promise?”

It was a promise with every inch of his being. He needed some way to prove it to her, to let her know that he was serious and not just a silly boy trying to play with her heart. He took her hand, slipping the ring into her palm.

The green diamond shone in the light. Confused, she inspected it.

“ _This_ is my promise,” he closed her fingers over the ring, “if you ever end up hating me,” which was a very high possibility, “then throw it into the river.”

“I could never.”

“You very well might.”

“And if I _don’t_ end up hating you?”

“Then I’ll actually go through with my proposal one day.” If he lived that long. 

That answer satisfied her. She reached behind her neck, unclasping a small golden chain and pulling the end out of her shirt. A silver ring, coupled with several other keepsakes, dangled from the necklace. He watched as she slipped his ring onto the chain. It hung in the air so naturally, as if it was meant to be there, close to her heart with everything else she found dear. 

“I’ll give you yours when you need it the most.” She nodded cryptically. She was so very rarely cryptic. The sight of her comically serious expression made him smile, despite the worry bubbling in his stomach. 

“When I need it the most?”

A simple nod, “Yes, when I’m ready to propose to _you_.” She slipped the necklace back around her head and hid it under her shirt, the jewelry now out of sight. It was a promise, kept close to her heart, ready to be fulfilled when the time was right. 

He would not argue that she might never get the chance to slip a ring onto his finger. He would not tell her of his plans for the future, his preparations to give his own life for the sake of the dead. He would not tell her how she should move on, and find someone who was deserving of her. He would try his best to count his blessings, and simply be grateful. Grateful that someone like Byleth loved him.

A smile, a polite bow. He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, “Until then, I hope you have a good night, Professor Eisner.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blaiddyd.”

“May I walk you to your room, Professor Eisner?”

“No, Mr. Blaiddyd, it would look improper.”

“Understood, Professor Eisner. Goodnight.”

She sent him a smile that encompassed his entire universe. He was enraptured. It took his breath away.

“Goodnight.”

* * *

******  
**Dimitri was fully prepared to move mountains, to fight Gods, all in Byleth’s name. Yet, _she_ was simply prepared for a nap. 

“Beloved,” he whispered, stroking her mint green hair that shone in the sunlight through the window. Her eyes remained closed, and he whispered his secrets to her sleeping form, “It's all okay now. You've gotten your vengeance.” Jeralt’s killer was dead, it was what she had wanted so desperately.

Little did he know, Byleth was actually awake, and simply _choosing_ to keep her eyes closed. The medical tent was welcoming, cozy and warm, and Dimitri had slept at her bedside all night. To hear him call her beloved, so unchained and unashamed, she did not even feel bad for tricking him into thinking she was asleep.

He had seen her tear through the sky, hair and eyes green as the leaves on the trees. He had carried her back until Manuela had snatched her from his arms. A golden glint around her neck caught his attention, and he knew that she still wore his promise at her heart. 

“Beloved,” he whispered again, devouring this stolen moment in time, “I'll keep you safe, just get some rest.”

* * *

******  
**“It’s been a week, your highness, the woman is dead.”

Along with his heart, which had shattered upon her disappearance. Byleth was nowhere to be found, and the rage in his stomach was nauseating. 

If glares could kill, the soldier giving him the report would be dead. To be so blunt when speaking of Byleth, to be so uncaring when referring to the woman he loved. Dimitri seethed, “Look again.”

They had been scouring the cliff sides all week. It was time to go, the Blue Lions could not stay any longer with the Imperial Army advancing so quickly. There were reports that they were coming for him specifically, coming for his head. Take it, he thought, take his head and all the damn ghosts haunting it. 

Ingrid looked at him with pity. Felix looked at him with disgust. Annette had been crying all week. Dimitri ignored it all. 

Edelgard. His father’s head rolling. Kill her, and end the whispers. Find Byleth, kill Edelgard. Find Byleth, kill Edelgard. Kill Edelgard, and put the dead to rest. 

First, find Byleth. 

“Sylvain,” he knew how snappy he sounded, yet did not stop himself, “Lead a group down the South side of the mountain.”

He opened his mouth to argue, yet shut it upon seeing the glare on the prince’s face. Gulping and turning away, he nodded, “S-Sure Dima. I’ll look again.” It had been the third time that week. 

The Imperial army would be there in a matter of days. Many had already ran, yet he stayed. He would fight, the time for his reckoning, his destiny, finally approaching. 

* * *

**Five Years Later**

**Imperial Year 1185**

**Somewhere In Northern Adrestia**

Upon the opening of her eyes, a breathing of the air, and a feeling of chill in her bones, Byleth returned to life with only one thought on her fogged, dazed mind. 

She really needed to pee. 

“I really need to pee.” She croaked to the river, who did not reply. 

The sun shone bright, but the breeze that kissed her still body was cold. She shivered endlessly, and splayed out on the soft, muddy ground like a piece of paper set out to dry. Her fingers were pruny from the water, and no possible amount of commands from her brain would make her legs move. All Byleth had control over was her mouth, and her eyes. Confused, slightly panicked, and entirely too exhausted, Byleth Eisner simply laid on the ground, and stared up at the blue sky above. 

It looked pretty. There was a cloud shaped like a duck, that was nice. 

“I really have to pee.” She repeated. The river continued to rush past her ears, and the wind continued to whisper through the trees, not caring at all for the filthy woman laying on the ground. 

Her legs remained dead. 

If she could not move, then it would be the next logical step to determine _where_ she was exactly, and how she possibly could've ended up there. She stared at the sky, which was very blue today, and decided that it was a very familiar Fodlan sky. The ground underneath was muddy and wet, and her clothes were soaked, sticking to her skin. 

Her neck complained as she turned her head. The trees were tall, ancient and reaching as high as they could go. It was not Faerghus, it certainly wasn’t rocky enough, nor was it cold enough. Perhaps the Southern part of the Alliance, or maybe even Adrestia. 

Her right leg stung the worst of all her limbs. Finally forcing it to raise, she slapped it against the ground. After abusing her leg several more times, she found that it would begin to move without the sharp tingles of pain chewing through her nervous system. She did the same to her left. 

As she sat up, dripping wet on the river bank, she shut her eyes in surrender to the pounding headache on the top of her skull. It was the worst hangover she’d ever had, especially as she didn’t remember even drinking in the first place. 

Byleth forced herself to stand, yet only fell. She was like a newborn calf, wobbly on her own legs. 

What had happened to turn her into such a mess? Every muscle ached, and she held herself up on her hands and knees and began to retch dirty water and bile onto the mud. What a sight she must have been, with her throat now burning in addition to her soreness and migraine. It certainly was the worst hangover she’d ever experienced. 

As disgusted as she was with her watery, slightly muddy vomit, she began to feel well enough to stand and lean her weight onto a thick tree trunk. Stuck in the ground next to where she had woken up, the sword of the creator had buried itself into the ground. Moss grew over it’s handle, and thick layer of grime colored the blade. 

Peeing could wait just a minute more. She dropped to her knees beside her beloved sword, and brushed the moss away with frantic, shaking fingers. It felt wet in her palm, but familiar and kind. Every joint screamed as she lifted, and lifted, and lifted. 

The sword decided to only budge just the slightest.

This was not normal, as her weapon had always been weightless in her hands. It was an extension of herself, another limb. Simple mud and sand could not keep her from lifting it. 

Gripping it tighter - which was not very tight at all with her current strength - she lifted, and lifted, and lifted. 

The sword did not move.

"Come on, you jerk," she steadied one foot in front of her, leaning back and yanking even harder. 

Satisfyingly, it released from it's trap in the mud, making a 'splootch' sound and causing her stumble backwards onto her bum. The ground squished under her like a cushion, but she could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Her arms screamed for mercy, and her fingers shook violently, making the sword slip from her hands and splash back onto the mud. 

Distraught, Byleth fell back to her knees. Her hands wobbled like as if she was elderly, yet there were no wrinkles or spots. She coughed once more, feeling the familiar wave of nausea threaten to climb up her throat. 

Byleth Eisner was not one to be so easily defeated by an aching body and sickness. Frowning and pushing herself back up, she clutched the slimy handle again, dragging it across the ground. Every ounce of strength she once had was weakened, nonexistent. She was like a child trying to pick up something much too heavy. The sword made a tiny trail as she dragged it through the mud, to the forest and into the trees. 

Something certainly terrible had happened. The environment was not anywhere near Garreg Mach, yet she could've been carried downstream by the river. She felt like a walking corpse, wondering if she had died and been summoned back to life by dark magic. There was truly no way for her to tell, as she never had a heart that beat in the first place. 

Byleth had no leads as to what brought her to the riverbank, covered in mud and moss. Her memory was shrouded by darkness, and her mind much too foggy to give her any answers. She merely walked, dragging the sword of the creator behind her like a common stick. Even the act of dragging the heavy weapon made her muscles ache. 

She would simply keep walking until she came upon civilization, hoping that they would be of the nice sort. She could not fight, she knew that much. Her body could barely hold itself up, let alone defend itself. 

At least the cloud that looked like a duck still floated overhead. That was nice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the question is... when will I stop starting new stories?
> 
> This one is going to be shorter, max 3 or 4 chapters. It's just a cute little idea I had.


	2. The Unbreakable Fortitude of Byleth Eisner

_Do you think that we'll change when we're older?_

_Say five years time_

_Don't you think the world feels so much colder without our love?_

_\- '_ Take Care' The Magic Gang

* * *

Byleth would curse whoever had decided to build this village so damn far away from where she had awoken. 

How rude, she thought, how _rude_ to not predict that one day a starving and weak woman would wash down the river and be forced to walk three whole miles just to reach the edge of their village.

How rude, that Byleth’s legs burned and complained, and that she was seeing stars by the time she collapsed on the road outside of someone’s house.

How rude that fate had dealt her this hand, and she didn’t even have Sothis to complain about it to. 

How rude, how inconvenient, how absolutely unfair life was to her. Yet, at least she had collapsed onto dry ground, and was not laying in mud any longer. A child poked her with a stick, but she found herself not caring. The world spun much too quickly for her to care. 

“Father, there’s a dead woman on the road.”

“Don’t touch her, she might be cursed.”

It certainly felt like she was. Managing to pry open one eye and stare at the dirty boots of the villagers circling her body, she grunted in response. It was all she could bear to do in her exhaustion, to grunt, to at least prove to them that she was alive.

“Hey,” a man’s voice echoed through her brain fog, and her side was being poked with a stick once more, “are you okay?”

No. In truth, she was _not_ okay. Walking about three miles through the forest had drained every ounce of energy she had left, and her stomach desperately cried for food. Once more, all she could manage was a grunt. 

“I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

Dimitri had picked her up once, and she had been in much of the same state she was in now. As dazed as she had been, she could recall the warmth of his skin, resting her head on his chest and listening to his footsteps as he carried her home. She loved him then, even through her grief and anger at Jeralt's death, he still remained her best friend. 

The village man gathered her like a stack of logs. Byleth despised being manhandled, yet her lack of energy forced her to allow the humiliation. She drifted in and out of consciousness as he carried her to a nearby cabin. She could feel the eyes of the villagers on her, foggy gasps of shock reaching her ears as the small crowd parted. She was an entire spectacle - a parade of one. 

The warmth from a fireplace in the cabin tenderly kissed her cheeks upon greeting. She was deposited into a chair, grateful to sit on something that wasn't the muddy ground.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“What a polite corpse.” The man laughed, ladling soup into a bowl. His son, the boy who had originally found her, watched from the corner with wide eyes. 

She supposed that she _was_ quite the polite corpse, as corpses, oftentimes, could be quite rude - being rather stinky, and all. There wasn't much Byleth could do to show her gratitude other than be polite, as this man had taken it upon himself to carry a muddy, wet stranger into his home. 

A woman entered the room. She had a handkerchief to her mouth, and her nose was crinkled. Byleth wondered if she smelled of old fish and the river, or if she was simply paranoid. The woman certainly looked as if something quite fishy had been dragged into her dining room. A bowl of roast-beef soup was gently deposited in front of her, and a spoon forced into her weak fingers.

“Thank you,” she coughed, and the family recoiled sharply at the sound, “I’m sorry.”

“You look terrible,” the wife could only whisper in shock and take the spoon from Byleth’s shaking hand. She filled it with broth, holding it up to her mouth, “like a bear’s chewed you up and spit you out, my dear.”

“I don’t think it was a bear.” As starving as she was, her stomach recoiled at the thought of food. Forcing herself to part her lips, she let the woman drip the soup onto her tongue. It was warm as it ran down her throat, a welcome taste as opposed to the sting of bile and river water. 

“Are you…” the husband twisted his hat in his hands like a rag, “perhaps a victim?”

A victim of what? She allowed another sip of the soup, and eyed him with a look of confusion. Once the food had traveled to her stomach, and promised to not travel up once more, she managed to ask, “A victim of what?”

“The war?” He whispered his words as if he feared soldiers would burst through his door any moment, “A prisoner, maybe?”

A war. There was a war, and there were prisoners. Now rapt to attention, she straightened in her chair, “No, I just woke up at the riverbank.”

“They throw bodies in that river sometimes,” the wife grimaced, “perhaps they thought you was dead? And you just don’t remember?”

It was plausible, entirely so. She had memories of Garreg Mach, memories of sitting upon a large stone throne, pitying Rhea's desperation. Edelgard in red robes. 

Edelgard. 

A dragon, an army.

“Is this war… perhaps being led by Edelgard von Hresvelg?”

“I-I think that’s her name, right?” He looked to his wife for approval before going on, “The emperor?”

Determined, a fire lit in her weakened system, “Where am I?”

“Between Varley and Aegir, our town’s so small we don’t really have a nam-”

“What year is it?”

“1185, miss.”

Five years later. 

_Somehow_ , she had no memory of the past five years. What the wife suggested could be completely correct, she very well could’ve been a corpse thrown into the river, thought to be dead. 

Or perhaps, she had been pushed by the water flowing from the Oghma Mountains all the way through Adrestia, washing up on the riverbank with an empty mind.

Whatever the case, she found herself a bit irritated at the entire situation. 

Byleth's thoughts turned back to the ‘how dares’ of life. How dare she not have her memory? How dare she feel like a walking corpse? And how dare she be so filthy and dizzy? Despite the anger bubbling in her stomach, she knew that she couldn’t possibly act like an absolute oddity to these villagers. They had helped her, and she would not make their days more difficult. The son already stared at her as if she was a swamp monster.

She took the spoon gingerly, now feeding herself with shaking hands. “Thank you for your kindness, would you mind telling me where I can take a bath and clean my clothes?” The river was too far away and too raging to bathe in. 

“I’ll draw you a bath, don’t you worry. You can sleep in our extra bed too.” The wife was too kind, too gentle. She reminded Byleth of Mercedes in how she carried herself, fluttering around the kitchen to make their muddy visitor feel more comfortable. Her heart ached - she could only hope that the war hadn't touched Mercedes terribly. 

After the warm bath and a touch more food, Byleth found herself being donated a large frumpy dress to wear while her clothes and armor were being washed in a bucket outside. The family was hospitable, warm, and she reminded herself to visit them once she was in the area again.

Night fell, and she lied awake in the unfamiliar bed. It felt nice to have a full stomach, and to finally be clean. It had taken two baths to get the five years of river mud off her skin. 

With the early morning sun rising, she said her goodbyes to the family. The entire tiny settlement seemed to gossip about her presence. People in Adrestia were always the more reserved type, and none approached her as she left the cabin and stepped into the dirt street. Byleth felt the silent, curious eyes of the people on her back as she made her way through the village and towards the main road. 

With her armor clean, and the sword of the creator at her side, wrapped in heavy leathers to cover the absolute oddness of the blade, she began her journey - on the way to Garreg Mach.

* * *

**  
**It took two full days of traveling along the expanse of the road before Byleth finally encountered human life. The region itself was well lived in, as she remembered this particular highway being a main merchant route, yet the apparent war had seemed to empty the world from all trading and travel. It was fortunate for her, as she assumed that _someone_ might be looking for her, whether it be her Lions, or Edelgard herself. 

It was _unfortunate_ her for, though, that the first humans she passed was a small group of Adrestian soldiers. 

She wished that she had a hood on her grey jacket, that she could've covered her face somehow. To run from them would've only looked suspicious, and she decided to simply act as absolutely casual as she could. They marched by slowly, every eye on her. She kept her gaze ahead and refused to engage with their stares. 

The trees were tall, the forest thick. Shadows from the branches overhead patterned the road. Byleth’s tactical mind told her that it would be the perfect spot for an ambush, she would’ve hidden her soldiers behind the trees, among the limbs and forestry, it was thick enough to hide at least a middle sized group from any passersby. Edelgard could've had spies in that village, and would be using the surroundings to ambush her professor and drag her back to Enbarr to join her cause. 

Byleth would've rather died than do such a thing. Her loyalty lay elsewhere, and Edelgard's betrayal had nearly broken her not-beating heart. To have seen Dimitri act that way, to have seen the army advancing onto Garreg Mach, Byleth knew where she wanted to be. 

Yet, she was not a tactician, nor a professor any longer. In five years her position would've easily been filled. Now, she was simply a weak vagabond with aching muscles and a load of paranoia upon seeing groups of Adrestian soldiers. 

The thought of her position as a professor was a bittersweet one. She was not yet accustomed to thinking that five entire years had passed. Her lions had to have grown up by now, even if she hadn’t. They were adults, fighting battles without her. To teach a class that wasn’t her original lions sounded almost sacrilege, a betrayal. 

The soldiers were only a few feet past her down the road, having apparently not deemed her a problem to worry about. What was a lone woman to a group of 6 or 7 trained men? Byleth could barely _hold_ her sword at her hip, let alone use it to fight. 

Or perhaps, they knew who she was, and she was correct in her thinking that it would’ve been a perfect spot for an ambush. Seeing as there was an ambush just a second later.

A deathly groan. A sick thud to the hard ground. Byleth’s stomach lurched as she turned to see a soldier laying face down with a dagger buried in his neck. 

“Steady!” The captain commanded over the wave of gasps. The soldiers were well trained, forming a circle to protect each other’s backs and raising their various weapons. All eyes seemed to land on Byleth, the lone woman staring at them with wide eyes and no usable weapon beside a small dagger she was given from the family back at the village. 

“Who are you working for?” The captain demanded an answer of her. 

“Nobody,” she tried to stand tall, “I’m just a traveler.”

“Then get out of here,” he waved a hand as the group tightened, looking around at the trees to find the source of the attack, “it’s not safe for civilians.”

Usually, Byleth would not be one to run from a battle, yet her muscles remained weak. What could have possibly happened to her body to make her not even be able to properly lift her treasured sword? Before she could retreat, the attacker revealed himself, and her blood froze cold. 

It happened an instance. A flash of a blue cloak and another soldier was down, the lance being ripped out of his chest brutally.

Byleth watched in horror. The man blocked a swipe of a sword, parried and felled yet another solider. Two descended on him at once, and he kicked one in the stomach, making him stumble away. 

His voice was deep, croaking, as if he hadn’t spoken aloud in ages. “You’ve ravaged the villages for far too long. Prepare to die as the filthy dogs you are!”

Ravaged the villages? Byleth thought that she’d seen smoke rising in the distance, but thought nothing of it. 

“I-It’s the one eyed beast!” The man who yelled in fear failed in defending himself with his sword, and had his throat promptly slit. 

It was horrific, a slaughter that took place so easily for the one eyed beast. Now, it was four soldiers to one beast, and Byleth's sense of justice poked at her mind. She could not possibly sit idly by and let a man be outnumbered, especially if he was defending an apparently ravaged village. If she was to take her stand against Adrestia and Edelgard, she would begin now. 

Yet, it might not have been intelligent to try to make conversation during a battle. 

“Have they really done so wrong?” She yelled, unsheathing the small dagger from her hip. 

The ‘one eyed beast’ glanced at her. He truly was one eyed, and he certainly did fight like a beast. She watched as his eye narrowed, and his lips parted in surprise. 

“You come to haunt me _now_?” He was bewildered, as if he'd been expecting her to appear, and was annoyed that she chose to do so in the middle of a battle. 

It was odd, and she wondered if he meant 'talk' to him, if he was confused that she was trying to ask him questions while he fought four men at once. Ignoring the antiquity, she nodded, “Answer me truthfully, and you will not have to face these soldiers alone!”  
  


He blocked the jab of a sword, side stepping and elbowing his assailant in the side. He looked at Byleth with something like fear and reverence, as if she was a ghost. “You would help me?”

An odd man, though she supposed anybody known as 'the one eyed beast' _would_ be odd. He was so familiar, but his hair was like a curtain that covered his features, his eyes were hollowed and it looked as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Byleth was growing more anxious now, with the four soldiers downing upon him. “If they have truly hurt innocent people, yes!”  
  


“Even your ghost remains just,” he spat the words, a compliment said in such an angry tone, “They’re scum. These men are monsters who kill for the sake of killing, in the name of a disgusting leader.”

It was enough for her. If the disgusting leader was Edelgard, she would believe it after seeing Remire and the attack on the monastery. The one eyed beast would become her adversary, and perhaps she could get a better look at him afterwards and pinpoint exactly where she’d seen such a familiar countenance before. 

He had blocked another hit, and knocked the soldier away. As he focused on two men, Byleth sprung forward with her dagger. Her legs ached, but she would give herself no mercy. 

“You use a dagger in place of a sword?” The captain mocked, “You’re a fool.”

“Well that’s rude, I’m rather sick right now, I’ll have you know.”

“An easy enemy.”

Perhaps. She certainly hoped not. 

Despite her weakness, she was still quick on her feet. She ducked under his axe, side stepped, pushed herself into a roll that made her hip pop - she felt like an old woman trying to do gymnastics. 

While on the ground, she kicked his knee with all her strength. He stumbled, and Byleth lunged, dagger in hand, aiming for the spot between his armor on his side. It was difficult to dig the small, dull blade through his skin and bone. She had forgotten how much strength it truly took to actually kill someone, and showed her just how much of her muscle she had lost in her five year coma. 

As the captain jerked away, she ripped her dagger back to allow his blood to flow without stop. The one eyed beast gazed at her with shock, “You’re… real.”

Confused, she looked at him, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He muttered, “I’m hallucinating.” He might’ve been, but the blood pouring from the captain’s side was entirely real, and _Byleth_ certainly was real. How kind it was of the beast to finish the battle for her, having a much easier time with killing the last soldier with a swing of his lance.

Byleth, sat on the ground, on her knees, and watched the bodies collapse to the ground. The mysterious, familiar man stood above them, the tip of his lance tapping on the road, and blood on the edge of his blue cape. 

The terrible sounds that always accompanied battle were gone, and the wind whispered once more. His breathing was heavy, but she knew that _she_ most likely was far more tired than he was. 

Byleth was the one to break the peace, hands resting on her thighs as she wiped the blood on her dagger into the dirt, “What kind of war is this that’s going on?”

He deigned to answer her, or even to spare her a glance, “Where have you been all this time?”

An odd question. She furrowed her brows, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know about the war, then?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“A monster lives in Enbarr,” he turned to look at her now, “You have been gone for a very long time, Professor. I’m surprised you didn’t haunt me sooner.”

If Byleth had a heart, it would’ve stopped. 

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the love of her life, looked like hell washed over. 

Her Dima, her best student, her favorite person in the world - besides her father of course. 

He stood before her, taller than she remembered, with a lanky demeanor that spoke of his lack of concern for grace. HIs hair, which had always been a bit wild, was tangled and long, as if he'd not washed it for months. She could only stare at him, tongue tied.

“What’re you looking at?” He hissed, such an un-Dimitri like sound, “Admiring the beast that stands before you?”

She would correct him, “Examining my Dimitri.”

“ _Your_ Dimitri,” he laughed bitterly, “Your Dimitri is dead.”

“Then I believe I’m the one hallucinating here.”

“You’re real, aren’t you?” He stepped forward, and knelt onto his knees in front of her. He held his lance in his hand, and the other hand raised to her hair, feeling it between his gloved fingers. He could’ve so easily hurt her, but she closed her eyes, letting him brush a lock behind her ear so gingerly. A beast with gentle hands. 

As if realizing what he was doing, he recoiled as if she disgusted him. Her eyes opened, and she watched him examine her face with a narrowed eye. Two oddities, on the ground in the middle of the road, staring at each other.

“You left me.” 

It was an accusation, one she didn’t appreciate. “I have no idea where I’ve been, Dima.” Desperate to help him understand, she raised a hand to hold his face, but he jerked back. He stood instantly, with so much unpredictable speed in his hallowed, lanky body. 

Scrambling to join him, she was nearly pleading, “Do you have any idea what’s happened to me? Did I join Edelgard? Did I die?”

“You fell off a cliff,” he answered darkly over his shoulder, “I searched everywhere for you.”

She didn’t quite _recall_ falling off a cliff. She remembered being besides one during the battle, and getting hit in the chest. Perhaps she did fall, and the river carried her elsewhere.

For five years?

“I can’t explain what happened to me, because I don’t know, but I just woke up only a few days ago. And…” mustering up her boldness to approach this strange version of her love, she put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m so happy to have met you again.”

The rings hanging on the necklace at her chest pressed against her skin. 

He was so passionate, yet so hollow. He turned around to face her, the bodies of the dead laying around them like sick reminders of what he was capable of. “And you think I’m happy to see _you_? You think that I want to be reminded of yet another person that I couldn’t protect? I’ve tried to warn you in the past, professor, I have only one goal in mind and I am closer than ever to reaching it.”

Vengeance, for the murder of his family. Yes, she remembered. He put the blame on Edelgard, and it very well might have her hand in it. She had felt the same drive once before as well.

She would not let him leave so easily, though. “Where are you going?”

His smile was subtle, yet twisted. “Garreg Mach, for the Millenium Festival.”

She might’ve been annoyed at his sense of irony if she wasn’t so tired. “When is that?”

“In a month.”

“Let me go with you.”

“I need no allies.”

She felt the same once, in her past as a mercenary, far before she had felt the sense of safety and love that came from having friends at her side. Not wanting to bluntly call him stupid, she pushed further with her softest tone possible, “I’ll cook for you.”

“I need no food.”

Gods, he was dramatic. “I’ll mend your armor.”

“I don’t care if it’s broken.”

Growing annoyed, she crossed her arms, “I’m following you no matter what.”

He gestured to something behind her, and upon following his gaze, she saw that there was absolutely nothing there. His laugh was bitter, “You’ll just join the parade of other tormentors, then!”  
  


She had always known that there was something off about Dimitri. It never concerned her until the moment he had found out who Edelgard was, but even then she had a measure of understanding at his reaction. But to gesture to nothing, and claim that he was followed by a parade of torment, it was growing clearer to her what had become of her first love. 

_Of_ _course_ she had to follow him. She had to bring him back - she was promised to marry him one day, and it would not do to have an insane husband. 

“Ignore me as much as you want,” she retorted smartly, “I’ll be your shadow. I have nowhere else to go, anyway.”

He only grunted. The old Dimitri that she had fallen in love with would’ve never blown her off so rudely. The change was jarring.

As she shadowed him, promptly ignored, she thought of how she _wished_ the reunion would've gone. 

Perhaps with her jumping into his arms, yes, and him twirling her around. Perhaps he would’ve kissed her head, and declared his love and longing for her, and she would be pleased to hear that he had already gotten his vengeance, and that he was entirely ready to marry her and have ten children. 

Life never worked out the way she wanted.

The man in front of her recoiled at her touch, she couldn’t imagine this Dimitri ever kissing her head, let alone pronouncing any form of love. 

He seemed annoyed at her presence, but she held strong. He was muttering to himself as he walked, glancing at her every few minutes and scowling deeply. Each time he did, she only narrowed her eyes. It was a silent battle between two powers, equally stubborn and determined. 

After several minutes of walking on the road, this new beastly Dimitri decided, suddenly, that he did not want to be on the road any longer. Instantly, he veered into the trees, and she stumbled as she followed him into the thicket. 

He moved naturally under the cover of the forest, and she was much too concerned about not stepping on any thorns. Her body ached as it was, and she felt that being covered in scratches would’ve only made her worse. 

Dimitri was anything but silent as he tramped through the leaves. He muttered, he mumbled, he cared not where his foot stepped. He was like a boar breaking through the trees in search for something nobody else could find. 

He spoke to himself, to his ghosts, to everyone but her. 

Except for the moments he commanded her to go away. 

All he received in response was a heavy glare. Five minutes later, he would command once more, and she would continue to silently shadow him. 

Byleth's annoyance grew by the hour. He seemed to take the toughest trails, finding the most annoying spot in the forest to walk through and making her follow him with her screaming muscles and joints. Yet, she would not be deterred so easily. “I have nowhere else to go besides Garreg Mach,” she informed him smartly, “and I can’t even lift my sword right now. I’m following you for my own sake.”

“Not out of love?” He taunted.

She could’ve strangled him. She, easily, could’ve stuck her dagger into his back. Or at least kicked his ass. She truly wanted to. 

Of _damn_ _course_ it was out of love!

“I have been asleep, in a river, for five freaking years, Dima!” She exploded, “I don’t even know how I’m alive! So excuse me if I’m clinging to the one person I’ve found so far upon waking up! Excuse my feelings for my friends and family still being just as strong!"

They had been walking for hours, and finally reached a small clearing in the forest. He stopped, one foot on the knotted root of a tree as he twisted to look at her. His eyes were flat, emotionless, “You’ve had it easy, professor. Not all of us got to take a nap the past five years.”

“If I could’ve been awake and with you, I would’ve.”

“Take this opportunity to disappear, Byleth,” he hissed, eye narrowed, “leave me to my revenge, and live a normal life. I have nothing but death to offer you.”

His death, or hers? She thought that perhaps he meant both. 

“What happened to you?”

“I died, more or less,” it was almost casual the way he looked away, staring at the leaves and thorns, “I’ve been running for so long, I had no choice but to become this beast, this murderer. The blood stains on my hands won’t ever wash off, and I’m no longer the boy you knew.”

That much was obvious. Her response was dishonest, a sweet lie to herself, and to him, “I’m okay with that.”

“You’re saying that as if you know who I’ve become.”

She didn’t know who he was, that was true. He was completely correct, able to see right through her lies. She avoided his gaze, “I’m willing to.”

“You’re a fool.”

Yes, she was.

He went on, now smiling, “But if you insist, I’ll use you for my vengeance until your bones break, and you die of exhaustion.”

She grimaced. What a nice sentiment. “I’m already pretty close to that now.”

“You haven’t used your sword yet.”

“I can barely lift it. My sleep, or coma or whatever, I’m still recovering. I think I just… layed there for five years.”

“Your muscles have depleted.” How scientific coming from the man before her, who eyed her skinny arms in unabashed disgust.

Her smirk was bitter, “Are you going to nurse me back to health?”

“Die, for all I care.”

His verbal blow was harsh. He was uncaring, turning away and continuing his hike through the forest. She stared at his retreating back.

If Byleth had a working heart, it would’ve broken. She felt as if she’d swallowed a rock, and her stomach churned in something she recognized as despair. 

Damn having emotions. They were so weak before, a statement like that never would’ve hurt her. Ever since Sothis had merged with her, the emotions she felt had grown so much larger. Her love for Dimitri, seeing him willing to do anything just to make her feel better once again after Jeralt died, it was all-consuming. 

The only feeling that consumed her now was hurt. 

Oh, she could’ve hated him. She _wished_ that she hated him. Yet, she followed behind, staying quiet and trying her best to erase his words from her mind. 

* * *

Dimitri did not sleep, nor did he eat. 

He had told her before at the academy that his crest lent him extra stamina, making sleeping not a very big priority for him. He would only fall asleep upon being absolutely exhausted, or taking strong herbs. And even then, he would go days with barely any rest, and still get wonderful grades and fight like he was born for it. 

Eating, on the other hand, was much more of a necessity. Also due to his crest, he needed more food to keep up with his increased stamina. Dimitri never cared about what he ate, even having admitted to her that he tasted nothing, but he always _had_ to eat his meals.

Now, as the one eyed beast, he ate barely anything. Byleth’s concern grew as she traveled with him, and noticed that he rarely stopped for human necessities.

She was growing hungry, and had found some berries along the way to snack on. He was uninterested in anything she found, even when she used a makeshift bow to shoot a bird down. She had to force him to stop so she could cook the bird, and miraculously enough, he _did_ stop after some exhaustive nagging. Yet, he stayed in the shadows, talking to himself and ignoring her bluntly.

It had been two days since they were traveling, and Byleth’s stamina had still not returned. She was exhausted, and treasured the moments that she could sit. Dimitri had not spoken a word to her since he had told her that she could die for all he cared. And the only moments that she deigned to speak to him was to tell him when she was stopping to rest. 

It was nice, at least, to be able to sleep and know the beast was watching the camp. He was a dedicated guard, tensing at even possums rustling in the bushes. Traveling with him was far better than traveling alone, and she would take what she could get.

Nearing the end of their second day, Byleth had started a nice fire. The nights grew chilly, and she reveled in curling up into her coat and sitting before the flames. Dimitri didn’t do well in heat, and stayed back as she roasted a rabbit on a make-shift spit. 

“You should eat,” she called to him, seeing him flick his eye to her and then away once more, “you can’t get vengeance if you don’t eat.”

“I don’t have time,” it was the first thing he’d said in days, and his voice croaked with lack of use once again, “This is a waste, I could be in Garreg Mach waiting for that woman to attack by now.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she brushed him off, “No you wouldn’t. We still have a ways to go.”

It was rare that he couldn’t find some way to argue with her. He grunted, turning now and wrapping his furs around his shoulders. He leaned against a tree, also a rare moment that he actually sat and rested himself.

She turned the skinned rabbit over, thanking Jeralt for having taught her how to hunt before he died. If she didn't take the initiative to get food, nobody would eat at all. “You can have this, if you’d like.”

“Eat it yourself.”

Byleth couldn’t help the small smirk, “So you’re allowing me to have all the food? You truly do care about my health.”

He scowled, “I don’t want it.”

“Please have at least half of it.”

“I don’t want the damn rabbit.”

“You’ll collapse eventually unless you eat.”

“Be quiet.”

“No,” she was incredulous, pulling the legs from it's body and making her way to him. She sat at his side, legs crossing over each other as she held up the food, “Eat these.”

“Back away, woman.”

Annoyed at being called ‘woman’, she moved closer, “Eat.”

“No.”

“ _Eat_.”

“ _Go_ _away_.”

Shoving the rabbit legs into his hand, she nearly yelled, “Eat or so Goddess help me I will fail you in all your classes!”

“I don’t _have_ classes, you wretched woman!”

“If you don’t eat you’ll die.”

He snatched the meat away sharply, sneering, “I’ll eat it if you shut your mouth.”

Victory.

“I’ll shut it, I promise.”

Looking her in the eye, he took the tiniest of bites of the meat. He chewed slowly, and she nodded as she watched him. She was nearly leaning over him, nearly in his lap with how close she had pushed.

It was a devious that that danced through her mind. Byleth Eisner had never been one for manipulation, leaving the tricks and schemes up to Claude, but perhaps she could achieve great heights from employing a silver tongue. Though, she wondered if nagging was considered silver tongued, perhaps it was more of a bronze, or iron tongue. If she could be insistent enough, Dimitri would become annoyed, and do what she wanted. It was not in her personality much, but she would do what she needed to take care of her love. 

Once he had taken another bite, she pulled away, satisfied with her work. She went back to tend to the rest of the rabbit, stripping the meat off so he could have even more food.

Little did she know, as she looked away, he nearly devoured the food. His stomach ached for more, a cursed human feeling that he had tried to ignore for so long. 

Once she gave him the rest of the meat, he ate it stubbornly, and she acted as if she wasn’t looking. Whatever she had to do, she would do it, in order for him to survive his madness.

* * *

Dimitri would not eat so easily again, but at least he was speaking to her once more. That was enough for Byleth to be satisfied with. 

The two days of traveling turned into four, not even a week yet and Byleth felt as if they’d barely moved. Dimitri traveled so quickly, yet would stop to attack Imperial Soldiers anytime the need arose in him. Byleth would awaken to him returning to camp early in the morning, covered in blood that was not his own, and prodding her to get up and get a move on. 

In all, she was beginning to grow used to it. No other options had presented themselves, and she found her stamina returning with the constant exercise. She hoped that at the end of the month she would build up enough muscle to fight once more.

Dimitri was an odd travel partner, so different from how he used to be. He had accompanied her to get her revenge on Kronya before the rest of the class came along, and he had spent nights laying next to her, pointing out constellations and telling her about the trees and scenery - he had an eye for finding the most interesting animals in his surroundings. 

“Oh hey, a lizard,” Byleth would point out, and _this_ Dimitri only grunted. He’d lost his appreciation for the stars, the trees, and the wildlife. Even the cute squirrels with their bushy tails wouldn’t catch his attention. 

Her best friend, the only man she had loved, had disappeared, he was dead. Replaced by this giant who muttered to himself about rolling heads and ghosts. 

Yet, Byleth was versatile, and she was slowly beginning to adapt. If Dimitri wouldn’t care, she would care _for_ him. 

“The sunset is beautiful.” It was painted with oranges and pinks, an ocean of color over the horizon. The two had found a rocky area, and Dimitri was striding alongside the side of the path carved from a cliff, unafraid of the fall that awaited if he slipped. 

“I don’t care.”

He usually wasn’t so vocal about his lack of caring. Byleth tore her eyes from the sky, looking at him with a furrowed brow, “Are you okay?”

A grunt. That was more like it. 

Deciding for herself that he was as okay as he could possibly be, she looked at the sunset again, walking more slowly so she wouldn’t trip over her distracted feet. “You used to love looking at the sunset.”

He’d organized an outside dinner for her and him under the sunset once. Byleth wasn’t aware of his feelings then, as it was before his spontaneous proposal, and only realized now that it had been a date. He had given her flowers and cooked dinner - it was terrible tasting, but she ate it with gusto anyway.

“That’s the past.”

“You can’t say you hate the sunset. What has it ever done to you? Other than be a beautiful, nice thing, but I guess you hate that kind of stuff now.”

He deigned to answer. 

“I don’t know how you could run all over Fodlan and not appreciate the beauty around us.” Even as a mercenary she had stopped to smell the roses, though her understanding of said roses had to grow before she could ever appreciate them fully. 

He grunted, still walking as he replied without a glance, “Excuse me for being on the run from an entire army, I didn’t have time to look at the scenery.”

Sarcasm, a very non-Dimitri response. Even now, he was rarely sarcastic, as bitter as he could be. “Perhaps it would’ve been therapeutic.” Goddess knows the man needed therapy.

He sighed, and stopped. Byleth nearly ran into his back, hands clutching the furs and her face buried into them. She stepped away in surprise, and looked up to see him staring at the setting sun. 

He was beautiful in the glow of the colors, even in his ghastly state. Long hair suited him, and his cheeks structure had only grown more defined in the five years. Byleth caught herself staring, soaking him in. 

“It was so improper, what we had.” She admitted, and he didn’t look at her, “I’m three years your senior, and your professor nonetheless.”

Gently, his brows furrowed, “I’m twenty three… but you’ve not aged a day.”

Technically, she would be about 25 or 26, but she was still in her 21 year old body. She still had bruises made from training right before she fell off the cliff, scratches from the cats at Garreg Mach. She truly had not aged a day. 

“You’re older than me in body, I suppose.”

The realization was splendid. He wasn’t her student, he was older than her in some sort of way, and he had grown even taller. The taboo was gone, and she found herself dwelling on the differences sweetly. 

He stared at the sunset. The salmon, the oranges, the yellows. It was painted beautifully, yet, he turned away, looking annoyed, “Therapy's over, now we continue.”

She scrambled to keep up with his long-legged stride, “How do you feel?”

“Like cutting off the emperor’s head.”

“It did nothing then?”

“Of course not.”

_She_ felt better. She was oddly giddy, just happy to be with him, happy that out of all the former students that she could’ve encountered, it was him. She had even mentioned the odd relationship they had, and he hadn’t recoiled in disgust. Progress, perhaps? She could only hope.

She was at his heels, “Do you remember when you proposed to me?”

He exhaled in a mix of shock and irritation, “I try to forget.”

“I would’ve said yes.”

“Because you’re a fool.”

“Because I believe in you.”

“And you’re a fool for doing so.”

She bit her lip. Courage was bubbling in her stomach, and she impulsively grabbed for his hand. At being touched, he stopped in his tracks, looking at her with a wide eye as if she was insane to do such a thing. He tried to pull his hand back, but she held on tightly. He could've easily ripped it away if he truly wanted, his crest could've defeated her in an instant, but it was comforting to her that he didn't. When Byleth was determined, she would find some way, somehow, to say or do what she needed. 

“I know you’re not ready to marry me, but I want you to know that I’ll always be there for you.”

It seemed funny in his twisted mind, his smile was loose, full of twisted anger and confusion, brows furrowed, “Why do you insist on dwelling upon your relationship with a dead man?”

“Because I really, really, liked that dead man.”

“He’s gone.”

“Then _you_ marry me instead.”

“Listen,” the smile fell, replaced with a serious expression as he yanked his hand away as if he’d stuck it into fire, “I am not here to entertain your girlish thoughts of marriage. I’m going to take the emperor’s head, and satiate the dead.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t have time for this.” He turned, now walking even faster to get away from her. But they were on a path on a cliff side, there was no other direction to go unless he wanted to climb the mountain. Yet, even then, she would’ve followed him. 

“You can’t answer me because you don’t know!” She antagonized, “You’ve never thought about what life would be like after you get your revenge.”

“I won’t have one.”

“Yes you will. Married to me.”

“Put away your idiotic thoughts, woman.”

“I won’t, because you know what?” Her challenge made him stop to look at her, “I care about you. And I need you as much as you need me.”

Dimitri sneered, "I _don’t_ need you.”

“I bet you haven’t spoken this much in years.”

He narrowed his eyes. She was right. 

Byleth went on, “I bet you haven’t had a companion in so long, someone to force you to eat when it’s been days, someone to start a fire and keep you warm.”

“A murderer doesn’t have that luxury.”

“Well, I’ve decided that now you do, so just accept it and get used to me being here.”

It was rare that Dimitri was curious about something, and the look on his face always betrayed his emotion. He never looked happy, or content, only many different shades of angry. This shade was confused, annoyed as he spoke, “What does that nonsense have to do with marrying me?”

“We can have sex if we get married.”

Byleth was a firm believer in sex after marriage, one of Jeralt’s few life lessons he’d hammered into her head. 

Also, she was a bit of a tease. She liked the anticipation.

Dimitri stared at her. This specific shade of anger was a dim, incredulous kind. He had not been dumbfounded in years. “ _What_?”

She only smiled.

“It’s therapeutic, Dimitri.”


	3. The Becoming of Byleth Blaiddyd

_During the summer take me sailing out on the Atlantic_

_I won't set my sights on other seas, there is no need to panic_

_So honey take me by the hand and we can sign some papers_

_Forget the invitations, floral arrangements, and bread makers_

_\- 'Marry Me, Archie' Alvvays_

* * *

Dimitri did not marry her, yet. 

_Yet_.

Byleth had her ways. When she wanted something, she worked for it, and she usually achieved it. Jeralt had always taught her that hard work reaped a sweet reward. And Byleth wanted the sweetest reward possible. 

The only way she could possibly get Dimitri to ever eat, to ever sleep, was to push him. She found that she was incredibly masterful at the art of annoyance, and as bad as she felt for being so pushy, she knew that her nagging was all for the best. 

Byleth loved largely. Many assumed that she had trouble conceiving her emotions, as she had very little of them. Yet, upon teaching at Garreg Mach and making friends that she'd never think she'd have, her ability to understand grew. The process was slow, and her face began to betray her newfound feelings day by day. A smile, a warmth in her stomach, concern and worry. It was new, but welcome. Finally, upon fusing with Sothis, her emotions were stronger than ever. Now that she was fully grown in the art of being human, she found that Dimitri was still, and always would be, her entire universe. 

She was _s_ _mitten_. 

Oddly enough.

It was the little things that would've escaped the notice of anyone _not_ smitten with him. The way he speared fish with his lance - something he was good at, and explained that he’d taught himself in the first year of his disappearance after his escaped execution - was cute, with his furrowed, determined brow as he stood in the creek and stared at the water.

The way he never brushed his hair. She couldn't quite explain her fascination with this, and could only assume that his absolute lack of vanity was what charmed her. 

The way he nearly growled at her when she forced him to eat. _Wonderful_.

The way his intense gaze lingered on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. _Spectacular_. 

The way his armor fit him so wonderfully, dark and dominating and _absolutely_ _perfect_. 

Smitten. Always had been, and always will be.

She hoped that he still loved her too, somewhere between the madness and the haunting. 

“I think we’re quite the good team,” Byleth mused to him at camp one night, sharpening the end of his lance - anything to provide him some help, it was something he’d never do himself. 

“Do you?” It was a grunt.

“We always have been,” she glanced up, catching him staring at her, “but especially so now.”

“I haven’t been trying to.”

So mean. He could deny it all he wanted. “You protected me from those soldiers the other day.” The soldiers _he_ had attacked. 

“If they killed you I’d have more of the dead around.”

“I thought you didn’t care if I died.”

“As long as it’s not my fault.”

“How sweet.”

He grunted. She continued to sharpen the blade, enjoying it’s reflective glow in the campfire she had made. The fish he caught earlier were on the spit over the flames, one for him and one for her. He finally had decided to start eating when they stopped, if only to stop her nagging. 

“And what about the other day when you caught me?” she continued, “I almost fell into that pond, and you grabbed me?”

It _could’ve_ been more romantic. He _could’ve_ held her by the waist, pulling her close to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. He could've easily kissed her then, too, and bemoaned the fact that she almost had fallen. It was such an opportune moment, and he had let it pass him by without a care in the world. 

The reality of the situation was that he grabbed her wrist tightly, and yanked her back. She fell on her face into the mud, and he had just kept walking. 

Ignoring this, she went on, “Or the other day when you gave me the rest of your food? You knew I was really hungry.”

“Lambert was bothering me,” he shifted in place, as uncomfortable as he could possibly express in his current state, “I was sick.”

' _Sick_ ' was one way to put it, and she would kindly believe what he wanted her to believe. 

“You should tell me when your father or Glenn are around.”

The change in his demeanor was like a flame catching onto oil, a snap of passion suddenly erupting as he sneered and tensed, staring at her with wild eyes, “Why would I do that?”

Byleth stayed at peace, so as to not dig him further into his thoughts, “So I can…” she paused, searching her mind for the correct words, “help you, I suppose?”

He began to seethe, “How do you _think_ you’d be able to help me? _Hug_ all of my problems away?”

She wouldn’t dare touch him, he’d push her away instantly. She knew better. Feeling put on the spot, but knowing that she opened this can of worms on her own, she returned his glare, “I’d remind you that we have a few things to do before reaching Edelgard. They can’t keep pushing you around when you can’t help not having her in front of you to kill this very instant."

“I do not blame them for being impatient,” he snapped darkly, “The dead want their dues.”

“The dead are not reasonable.”

“The _world_ is not reasonable. It’s been _nine_ _years_ , they grow impatient,” he stood from his spot, snatching his lance from her hands and beginning to walk away, “you can do nothing for me, don’t waste your time thinking about it.”

“That’s not true,” she called to his retreating figure, “you just won’t let me help you!”

He lacked a response. She watched him go, hearing his mutters and mumbles as he escaped from her gaze. 

It was a day later when Byleth finally found him again. He stood over a dead courier from the Empire, blood dripping from his lance as he stared at the body.

She had taken to walking on the road, knowing that Dimitri would eventually end up on the path for a fight at some point. She saw him in the distance, and broke into a jog to meet him. 

He knew the sound of her footsteps, and only glanced at her as she slowed in her approach. He deigned to greet her, only turning his attention back to the body below him. 

“A courier?” She mused, crouching and digging into his bag. Pulling out several envelopes, she held them up to inspect the wax seals, “Have you looked at these yet?”

“No.”

She shimmied the bag off the body, throwing it over her shoulder, "I'll look through them later. Perhaps we’ll see if she’s ending troops to Garreg Mach or not, or even going there herself.”

“It’s the festival, of course she’ll be going there.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know _her_.”

He only knew the thought of her, yet Byleth would not be the one to remind him of that. Despite her being his stepsister, Edelgard was someone entirely different than the monster he imagined in his mind. She had her own goals, her own reasons for doing what she did, and while neither he nor Byleth understood, she was still a human, and she was still intelligent enough to not take Dimitri on personally. 

Byleth kept the bag close despite his lack of interest, and followed him as he stalked into the trees once more, always at his heels.

* * *

**  
  
**

Two weeks of traveling, and Byleth felt her strength beginning to return. Finally. 

She had pleaded desperately with Dimitri to take a break on the side of the road, and he complied only after she threatened to vomit on his cape. He sat on a tree stump, watching her as she lifted the sword of the creator, pointing it at the empty expanse ahead. 

She had no choice but to hold the hilt with both hands tightly gripping it. Her arms shook with pressure, and Dimitri watched with interest, “Swing it.”

Attempting to comply to his demand, she positioned her foot away, and lifted the sword higher. Her swing was weak, and the tip ended buried into the ground at her feet once more. Yet, at least she could swing it, that was far more than she could do when she had first awoken.

“Do you remember how to fight?” He asked, raising a brow at her. 

She nodded, “I do, I know I have my reflexes mentally, but I just… I just need more time.”

“If you’re to help me cut off the emperor’s head, you need to gather your strength.”

“Oh, you’ll let me help?”

His smile was twisted, a sense of humor only he could have, “I’ll allow you to put it on the pike outside of Fhirdiad.”

“How kind of you. I’m really just happy to be involved.”

“Swing your sword for me again.”

Byleth lifted it, swinging the blade weakly, yet stumbling over her own feet. As she caught her balance, she scowled in frustration. “I’m so tired of this.”

“Swing it again.”

She swung. Her arms screamed. She had not felt this weak since her childhood when she had first picked up a weapon. 

“Again.”

“Are you training me now?”

“Returning the favor, professor.”

“You’re being oddly kind today, your highness.”

“Swing the sword again.”

“Marry me?”

“No. Keep swinging.”

* * *

**  
  
**

Dimitri had to break at some point. He was only human, after all, despite what he insisted about himself. 

“There’s a chapel in the village nearby,” a suggestion whispered across dimming coals of the campfire, “I have the rings already.”

Dimitri was silent. He was sitting up, leaning his back against a tree. His eye opened upon her whisper, staring at the girl laying in the bedroll on the ground. She kept her head down, resting it upon the crook of her arm as she stared back.

“...So?”

“We could marry.”

“So?”

“Marry me.” A demand.

“No.”

“You’re cruel.”

“Yes, I am.” He smiled, and closed his good eye again. 

The night was cold, but he seemed to enjoy the bitter breeze. Byleth snuggled deeper into her bedroll and pulled it up to her chin as she watched him. Dimitri was almost at peace, as content as he could possibly be. She wondered what the ghosts could've been saying to him in that moment, as he rested his head on the tree trunk and crossed his arms comfortably. Were they angry with him? Or were they resting as well?

“Please?”

His small sliver of peace was being threatened. He frowned, “No, woman, be quiet and sleep.”

“I’ll stop nagging you if you marry me.”

“Your nagging will only increase with wife-hood.”

“It’ll be a different kind of nagging, though."

“I want _no_ kind of nagging."

“It’ll only take a minute for us to marry.”

“The dead do not have a minute to spare.”

“But you do.”

“I _don’t_ , you harpy, now be quiet and stop asking me.”

Byleth begrudgingly complied, closing her eyes once more. Dimitri remained awake, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared into the shadows around their camp. Silence fell. The rings that lay around her neck were cold against her skin. A reminder, a call to action, an absolute bother that she couldn't ignore. 

Her whisper traveled across the forest floor, reaching Dimitri to wrap him in an embrace he knew he didn't deserve. "I'm in love with you."

A pause. Thinking. 

“I don’t care.”

A huff, “Yes you do.”

Byleth pushed herself up into a sitting position. The moon overhead was full and bright, providing the light she needed to see him in the grey. His eyes were flat as he stared, unwavering. 

It was the moment she'd been looking for. 

Byleth reached around her neck and unclasped the necklace. The rings fell into her palm, bright under the moon above. 

He watched. 

She crawled across the sticks and dirt, sitting beside him and taking his hand. He allowed it, though his shoulders were stiff with tension. “I’m going to take your glove off,” she warned in a whisper, feeling reverential as she looked at his black clad fingers, “trust me. Please?”

He trusted no one, she knew that. Yet, for reasons she did not dare to dwell upon, he allowed her to pull the glove away, and lay it gingerly in her lap. It was one small piece of armor, one brick in his carefully built wall, and it was cast aside. Baby steps, awkward and hesitant, but necessary. 

His hand was pale and scarred. She wanted to feel his fingers against her face, but knew that it would be too much. He was stiff, breath halting, careful as he observed her movements, as if she was a snake about to strike. 

Long ago, before Byleth fell to her ‘death’, she had gotten her mother's ring resized to fit his finger. She had always known that this would happen, one way or another. “This is yours. I told you once before that I would give it to you when you needed it most. Now is that time.”

The ring slipped onto his finger like butter. 

“And I won’t take it away like you did.”

He jerked his hand away, frantically pulling the glove back on and covering the ring. Despite it being out of view, Byleth could only smile at the knowledge of it being on his hand in the first place. That was enough. With the green jeweled ring that he had given her slipped back onto the necklace, she was moving to clasp it around her neck once more, until he put a hand on her’s to stop her from doing so. She looked at him in surprise, and he looked at her with an unwavering, angry determination. 

“Throw that trash in the river.”

Preposterous. He wanted her to hate him so badly. And she did, sometimes, but never in the way he wanted.

“No.”

“I won’t marry you.”

“So? I’m not taking the ring back.” Once on his finger, she would not allow him to return it. 

“You’re impossible,” he hissed, standing abruptly and turning away. The leaves crunched under his feet as she watched him stalk into the shadows, retreating from her proposal. He clutched his left hand, and Byleth could see his thumb stroke the small lump where the ring poked up from underneath his glove, as if reminding himself that it was there. Whether he hated it's presence, or not, she didn't know. 

Her hands shook. Byleth had only cried once in her life, but it threatened her now. A stone was lodged in her throat, and a hurricane of despair churning in her stomach. She _was_ impossible, but that impossibility had saved her life countless times. Feeling dejected, she sighed and curled back up in her bedroll. 

Byleth didn’t sleep that night. She couldn’t. She stared at the sky, wishing that Dimitri was beside her. That he was _her_ Dimitri, who still loved her, who’s cheeks turned pink when their hands brushed on accident. Who brought her flowers with the roots still attached. Who looked at her like nobody else ever had before. She missed that Dimitri with every inch of her being. 

The morning arrived with it's light simply to bother her, she assumed. The damn sun was the enemy of sleep, and it's shine seemed brighter than ever that day. Byleth had just barely been able to doze off when the sound of boots crunching on leaves reached her ears. 

Her eyes opened. Dimitri was approaching.

Dragging a tied up man behind him. 

“What in Sothis’s name?” Byleth sat up immediately, scrambling to stand and approach him with raised, panicked hands, “Did you _kidnap_ someone?”

His gaze was flat. He looked annoyed, his hair sticking up in various places, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He dragged the man by a rope, making a trail through the leaves and dirt that led straight to their camp.

Carelessly, he deposited the man in front of a large tree trunk, and looked at Byleth with a narrowed eye, “You will not nag me any longer, woman.”

Byleth stared at the kidnapped, tied up, terrified old man. 

His robes were unmistakable. 

A priest. Dimitri had kidnapped a priest.

If she had a heart, it would've exploded in anticipation, a sort of twisted glee that she felt extremely terrible for feeling. The old man was terrified, covered in dirt and leaves, hands tied behind his back. Yet, she could only stare at him and feel _utter_ _joy_. 

“What’s… the meaning of this?” 

“We’re getting married.”

* * *

Byleth Eisner became Byleth Blaiddyd very quickly, and very oddly. 

“I _cannot_ believe that I’m doing this,” the priest complained, shaking from fear. His hands were still tied behind his back, and his ankles tied together as he sat before the couple. Dimitri had taken out the mouth gag to allow him to officiate, but it was only temporary. 

Byleth had never been one to be interested in planning her wedding. As a young girl, she preferred fighting, eating, and reading. Wedding planning was not a priority for her, and even now it proved useless in her mind. This wedding was entirely unplanned, yet she found herself content with it's accompaniments. Her bouquet were two wild flowers that had been growing nearby, white and purple and possibly poisonous. She gripped them tightly in her hands as if it was a bouquet of the finest roses. 

She had no wedding dress, she simply wore her armor. Her hair was wild and choppy around her face, nothing like the intricate styles a bride would usually wear. The venue was the forest in Northern Adrestia, an entirely random spot that neither of them had any attachment to. Her only regret was that her father and friends were not there, and the only attendees were insects, and a squirrel in the tree above. 

Despite it's flaws, it was perfect. Byleth would have it no other way. 

The priest gulped, shaking, “D-Dearly beloved, we gather here today to witness the union of two souls in holy matrimony.”

Dimitri shifted in place impatiently, uninterested. He stood beside Byleth, staring flatly at the priest, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. 

“W-What’re your names?” The holy man stuttered.

“Byleth Eisner.”

Dimitri humphed, “You don’t need to know my name.”

He faltered, "I need to know your name if I’m going to marry you two. It's how these things work."

Byleth interjected, “Just 'Dimitri' is fine to call him.”

“Okay…” he gulped, “please don’t hurt my family.”

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, “Get on with it, and I won’t.” _Charming_. 

She smiled. He looked at her now, their eyes locking. She would remain smitten, despite his obvious imperfections. And they were _so very_ obvious. 

“Do you, Byleth Eisner, take, uh… _Dimitri_ , as your lawfully wedded husband?”

It was immediate, an answer she knew in an instance. “I do.”

She felt bittersweet. Byleth had never thought she’d get married before, it had never been in her best interests, but then she had fallen in love with her student. Jeralt had always suspected that there was something between the two of them. She missed him, Dimitri and Jeralt both. If only her father could see what she had done. He’d be proud, and perhaps a bit concerned. She was marrying a madman desperate for revenge, after all. It wasn’t as if she expected Dimitri to make a good husband in the state that he was in. 

The priest, mildly disgusted, went on, “Okay, so uh, do you, Dimitri, take Byleth Eisner as your lawfully wedded wife?”

He chewed on the thought darkly. A moment passed of him staring at a bug on the ground, glaring as if it had done him a personal wrong. Both Byleth and the priest shifted uncomfortably and watched the gears turn in his head. 

Finally, he sighed, “Fine. Sure."

“...Okay,” The priests’ voice was laced with sarcasm, “I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. um…”

“Blaiddyd.” Byleth answered, forcing herself to smile if only to soothe the kidnapped man’s nerves. 

He spoke quickly, “Mr. and Mrs. Blaiddyd. You may now kiss the bride.”  
  


Dimitri was entirely ready to reject the command and get this nonsense over with, but Byleth knew him, and predicted his resistance. Quickly, she leaned up, pecking him on the cheek before he could complain. Her lips were soft on his skin, the kiss landing under his eye patch, and ending just as quickly as it began. 

It was as if he’d been slapped. He put a hand to his cheek, eyes wide as he stared. She smiled, “It’s official, now. Who’d have thought it would happen this way?”

“Do not mistake me,” his expression grew dark, hand still resting on his cheek where she’d kissed him, “I did not do this out of love.”

A wonderful start to a very happy marriage. She could only smirk, “Then why'd you do it?”

“So you’ll stay with me, so I can use you until your skin falls off and your bones break. Once you gain your strength back, you’ll be my unstoppable pawn.”

“That’s not a very nice way to describe your wife.”

The priest was even more frightened, staring at them with wide eyes. He gaped, shoulders shaking, “Please just take me home now."

“Take him home, dear,” triumphant, for she had won the battle, Byleth tilted her head to look up at him. She ignored his scowl and returned it with the most demure smile she could possibly muster, "Then we'll start our honeymoon."

Something akin to irritation, mixed with confusion, flickered across his features. His cheek was still smudged with dirt, and his undereyes lined darkly. He looked exhausted, and angry. “You think this is funny?”

A bit, as horrifying as it was to kidnap an old man. She found that complacency was the best medicine to Dimitri's eccentricities. “It’s my wedding, am I not allowed to be in a good mood?”

She was not, apparently, as his glare would’ve felled the strongest of beasts. Feeling bittersweet, she pulled the ring off of her necklace, and stared at the green gem in the center. It had stayed close to her heart for so long, surviving the fall and the river itself. Dimitri had given it to her to wear some day, and this day had finally come. 

“I didn’t throw it into the river.” She held it up, managing a smile, “Won’t you put it on me?”

It was begrudging, almost painful, as he took her hand. He was so clumsy when handling her, so inexperienced. Sometimes, Dimitri was gentle. Sometimes, he seemed to not know what to do with her. She wished she could feel his skin on hers as he took the ring, pushing it onto her finger. It stung with the force of his push, and he stared down at her hand resting in his palm. 

The priest watched incredulously, having never seen a couple quite like this before. 

“You’ve made a mistake.”

It was a whisper made only for her ears. 

“I don’t make mistakes.” A lie, she knew. 

Dimitri let her hand drop carelessly. He thought she was wrong, she could see from the expression on his face. He thought she was a fool, that she had made the mistake of her life. Byleth ignored him. Her determination would pay off in the end, and she would make sure of it. 

“My father approved of you,” she informed, watching him grab the rope he had pulled the priest along with, “he thought you were a good kid, if not a bit of a flirt.”

“Only with you,” he snorted, “I was just a boy then. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Now you do?”

“The dead decide what I do.”

Did the dead decide for him to kidnap a holy man and get married? If so, they had a weird sense of humor. Dimitri’s own sense of humor, irony, and dramaticism had been skewed enough back at the academy, and now it was at a level she couldn’t quite understand. Yet, despite the lack of understanding, she was simply happy to be wearing the ring she'd waited so long for. It wasn’t as if this was what she truly wanted, but with Dimitri now absolutely, eternally stuck with her, she knew that he was in a better position in life than he was before.

The idea held antiquity. Dimitri didn’t _need_ to be married to heal emotionally, but Byleth was sure that her presence and support would at least help him. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to cure him, no mental illness is curable just by a simple hug - but to have a support system, one so dedicated and close, she knew that it would make a difference. 

Byleth sent a glance to the priest, who’s brows were raised high into his receding hairline. In an attempt to provide some comfort, she sent him a smile, “How about we all walk to the village together?”

The priest sneered, “Walk?”

“Or, be dragged, in your case. Sorry.” 

Dimitri yanked on the rope, and the man was pulled face first into the mud. She frowned in panic, “That’s rude, Dima.” Ignoring her, he began dragging the man once more through the leaves. Byleth chased after him, “Pick him up, at least!”

“It’s a short distance.”

“ _Dimitri_.”

He stopped, narrowing his eye in anger, looking at her over his shoulder as if she was dog poop he had just stepped in. “You said you wouldn’t nag me if I married you.”

“Entreating you to have some human decency is _not_ nagging.”

“I'm not human, I'm a monster. Or are you not aware of you who you're married to?”

She desperately wanted to roll her eyes. So dramatic. 

It was much too early in their marriage to be fighting. If Jeralt knew that she was having a spat with her husband only after 5 minutes of being married, his stomach would’ve hurt from laughing. It was just yet another reason why she wished that he was here. “Pick him up.” She demanded. 

Dimitri’s glare was heavy, and he was begrudging as he knelt down, heaving the old man over his shoulder. Byleth locked eyes with the priest, who sent her a silent, tired ‘thank you’. She picked a leaf from his hair, and smiled in return, “I bet he's not heavy at all.”

A humph. He was grouchy again. 

The holy man guffawed, “If you ever need to escape from this beast, my chapel is always open.”

Dimitri bumped him, making the man’s stomach dig into his shoulder as he walked. He made an ‘oof’ noise, and Byleth could only grimace. He shouldn’t have poked the boar, he was going to feel the repercussions, despite Dimitri’s open agreement to, indeed, being an absolute beast.

Byleth followed behind, her boots crunching the leaves beneath her. The village lay ahead, and she finally realized just how early in the morning it was. The streets were empty, and the sun was just barely beginning to shine. An early morning wedding, hitched without having even eaten breakfast. It was charming, in a way. 

Dimitri dropped the priest onto the ground, clutching the front of his robes and pulling him close as he knelt to speak to him in a low voice, “If you say anything about this to anybody, I will find your family and make them suffer.”

Byleth wondered what the innocent man thought. Perhaps they looked like two lovers on the run, escaping from families that didn’t approve. Or perhaps they looked like criminals. Disliking the ideas, she stepped forward to explain, “We’re running from the Empire. If you’re tired of the suppressive rule of the Emperor, then you’ll keep quiet about seeing us.”

His fear and disdain faltered. Behind him, the village was rundown, horses having been stolen from their stables, and their crops obviously suffering from a raid. “W-What do you mean?”

“The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus will win this war,” she knelt beside Dimitri, who was watching with a cold, unreadable expression, “the prince is coming back, and our army will make a good fight against the Empire. Freedom and peace awaits you, but... you just have to keep your mouth shut,” she playfully put a finger to her lips, “and not tell _anyone_ that you met us.”

A mysterious promise, one that would not get any more of an explanation. He was quiet. Byleth pulled away, forcing a smile that she hoped was comforting. Dimitri stood up and turned around to take his leave, while she cut the ropes around his wrists with the dagger at her hip. Finally, the priest took a deep breath, “Okay... I’ll be quiet.”

“I promise we’ll come back one day and thank you properly for marrying us.”

He snorted. “Just keep your animal in his cage.”

She glanced at Dimitri’s retreating figure, “I hope to tame him so he doesn’t have to have a cage in the first place.”

“Be careful, girl,” he rubbed his wrists where the rope had turned the skin pink and raw, “a man like that’s not safe to be around.”

“I’ll be fine.” Sending another smile that seemed to be comforting, she stood, and left the shaken priest behind. Behind her, she could hear the sound of the old man standing, his quick footsteps stumbling on the gravel as he ran back to his village. He was safe, alive, and finally free from the madness he was forced to be apart of. 

And Byleth Eisner was married. Byleth Blaiddyd. 

The sun shone on her ring, making the green diamond glint. It matched her new hair and eyes, and fit so perfectly on her finger. Catching up with Dimitri, she put a hand on his arm as they walked, “Did you get this resized?”

“Years ago,” he grunted, “On a dumb, hopeful whim.”

She could imagine Dimitri at 18, bright eyed and most likely nervous as he took the ring to a jeweler, Byleth on his mind. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought. 

“We’re married.”

“Unfortunately.”

“It’s very fortunate. Now you’re stuck with me. You’ll be fed, and well taken care of - you have a support system now.”

His lips set into a thin line, and his brows furrowed as he stared ahead, “I want none of those things.”

Always so difficult. Dimitri was tough to crack, but Byleth had time. Now being married, he couldn’t possibly be rid of her. 

* * *

**  
****  
**There was one aspect of the marriage that was entirely unpredictable. Byleth never would’ve seen it coming.

Dimitri slept so much better at her side. 

The rare times that he slept, at least. 

Two days passed by rather quickly after the wedding. The honeymoon ended before it ever had a chance to begin. He continued traveling at his stormy, gloomy speed, mumbling under his breath as his wife followed close behind. 

Byleth knew that his ghosts were bothering him. There was always a way to tell when he was being tormented moreso than usual. His mumbles grew louder, his posture worse, and the look in his eye was vacant - sometimes fearful, sometimes sad.

She knew to leave him alone when he spoke to Lambert and Glenn. She knew to keep her concerns to herself, and to let him work through whatever twisted conversations he had with his hallucinations. It proved to be a terribly lonely time, but she knew that he would come out of it eventually. He always did. 

Dimitri nearly collapsed by the end of the second day. He was almost vulnerable looking, dropping to his knees in exhaustion just a foot away from her. She was already sitting and patting out the bedroll she’d gotten from a village weeks ago. 

He looked at her, finally _seeing_ her for the first time in two days. She beckoned him come over. 

He was so exhausted he wouldn’t even complain. It had been nearly four days since he slept, not having slept for two entire days before their wedding, and the two days afterwards. It was almost funny how he stumbled over himself as he approached her bedroll. Sleep was finally taking him, and Byleth had a slight inkling that he had lost his ability to care in that moment, and would do whatever she told him. 

He collapsed onto the blanket. She scooted over and brushed back the hair from his face, gently so as to not startle him, “I’ll watch the camp.”

It was enough to put him at ease. Pushing even further with his rare show of docile-ness, she whispered, “What are they saying tonight?”

“They’re screaming," he croaked, the first time having spoken to her in days, “It’s giving me a migraine.”

“You can’t help that,” she assured, “let them scream while you rest. They have to understand that you’re not one of them yet, you’re still alive and you need some sleep.”

“They don’t care. They deserve their due,” he pushed himself up, scowling now, “The dead do not rest.”

She pushed his shoulders down so he would lay again, “You’ll be joining them for real if you don’t, though. You can’t kill Edelgard if you’re dead.”

He closed his eye, “Don’t say her name.”

Byleth deigned to respond, only watching her husband with a flat expression as he began to drift into his nightmares. She understood entirely why he didn’t want to sleep, having been a victim of her own mind many a time in her life, but she was not entirely ready to be a widow. 

He was scowling in his sleep. How like him. 

Rolling her eyes, she laid down on the blanket. She wouldn’t snuggle up to him immediately, not wanting to be crushed in her sleep, but his hand reached out to touch her side. She had her back to his chest, using her arm as a pillow. The twigs underneath the blanket poked at her, but she ignored them and relished in Dimitri’s large hand resting upon her waist. 

His fingers tightened. She felt a pull. 

Bravely scooting closer to him, his arm wrapped fully around her. She was like a body pillow, and fit so perfectly into his chest, as if he was made to hold her. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d slept next to each other. The memory flooded her mind like a broken dam, and she let it’s warmth lull her to sleep. 

_“I miss the Northern stars,” Dimitri whispered, closing his eyes to the night sky above as he spoke, “I’ll have to show you them one day.”_

_Byleth lay on her side to face him, head resting on her folded arms as she watched his profile silhouetted by the blue of midnight. "Is that a promise?" His lips quirked into a smile, yet his eyes remained closed. His hair had been pushed back and was fluffy as it spread into the grass below him._

_He was entirely too kissable in that moment._

_“Of course,” Dimitri’s voice was full of amusement, as if he was baffled that she was even asking that in the first place. Of course she’d be promised to see them, she was already promised to have a place in his Kingdom after he graduated, a room that would be just for her, and a place at his table every night._

_It was all planned out perfectly. Dimitri would return to Fhirdiad, Byleth with him, and she would be one of his advisors and knights, though she would accept literally any position he’d give her just to be near him. She’d accept being a maid and sweep his floor for an eternity if that meant being within a mile of his orbit._ _After going to Fhirdiad, she was going to request Rhea personally to let her father be a representative of the Knights of Seiros, but in Faerghus. Jeralt would’ve hated it, but Byleth knew there were enough dire wolves to fight and beer to drink in the North to keep him busy and active enough. If she could have her cake and eat it too, she would try her best to do so._

_It was almost romantic, the promises he made. She reminded herself of her position, how absolutely improper it would be to kiss him in that moment under the stars._

_Yawning, she tried to distract from the thought, only to open her eyes again to his face. He had turned, and was now looking straight at her. A blade of grass was stuck in his hair, but Byleth let it be, she would change nothing about him in that moment._

_“You’re beautiful.” He informed._

_She frowned, though her stomach betrayed her with a joyful flutter of affection. “Remember what we talked about?”_

_“I’m not trying to court you,” his lips quirked, “I’m just telling you a fact.”_

_“A very flirtatious fact, one that shouldn’t be told to one’s teacher, don’t you think?”_

_He sighed, his face falling, “Yes, I know. I just can’t wait for this to be over.”_

_His vengeance, he meant. Not the graduation. Byleth had no idea how long it would take for him to be ready, but the rings on the necklace at her chest pushed against her skin impatiently._

_They slept on the grass that night, in a spot right outside of the Monastery walls. A knight of Seiros woke them up by dumping water on their faces. As the two began their walk of shame back to the rooms, dripping wet and cold from the morning air, they couldn’t help but be overjoyed through the embarrassment._

Byleth wasn’t sure what exactly what love felt like. 

Sometimes, she hated Dimitri. Sometimes, she hated that she hated Dimitri. Sometimes, she hated loving Dimitri. 

It was complicated, she decided as she reveled in the feeling of his chest against her back, and his steady breathing in her hair. Love was complicated, but should never be toxic. Stronger than the hate, the anger, the irritation that she felt, was the longing, the concern, the waves of affection that pulled her beneath and filled her lungs, drowning her entire body. 

Byleth would be positive. She would see the good that was left in the man she loved, and it was _somewhere_ under the layers of dirt, grime, and blood. She would enjoy his touch, the one he was too tired to rip away from her. She would listen to his soft snores, and remember who he once was, and who he had the potential to become. 

The next morning he was gone. Byleth was used to waking up alone, and knew that Dimitri would find her at some point - he always came back, much like a stray cat. 

She began rolling up the bed, and kicking dirt over the still burning coals of the fire. The messenger bag from the Imperial courier lay beside her, and she busied herself by digging through the letters. 

Edelgard was intelligent, using civilian mail to disguise her plans. Byleth opened every sealed envelope before finally recognizing the elegant cursive of her former student, disguised as a letter from a small village in Southern Adrestia, with no address on the front. 

Whoever this letter would be going to, Byleth had no clue. As she read over the plans - which were actually quite droll - Dimitri came back to camp. 

She flicked her eyes to him, noticing that the dark circles he wore were lighter than usual. He still looked entirely too grumpy, but sat next to her wordlessly as she read. 

“The Emperor’s sending troops to Garreg Mach,” she informed, handing him the parchment, “I don’t think she’ll be a part of them, though.”

He scanned it’s contents, looking disgusted. Perhaps she should’ve kept the information to herself, as he was destined to just get into a bad ‘i want to kill everything’ mood. She should’ve been smarter to not trigger such things by now. 

“All the more reason for us to go,” he nearly growled, “Anybody who aligns themselves with her deserves a swift death.”

Incredulous, she gaped, “You want us to take on a small army by ourselves?”

He looked at her, annoyed, “Yes?”

“You’re insane.”

How intelligent, to point out the obvious. He seemed to think this, as he gestured to himself and furrowed his brows, as if to say ‘ya think?’ His self awareness was far greater this morning, and that was a nice change at least. 

Byleth deadpanned, “I _mean_ , do you really think it intelligent for us to challenge an army when I can barely lift my sword as it is?”

“I’ll do it alone.”

“ _No_ , you won’t.”

Dimitri was not ready for another argument over what he would or would not do. It was a daily occurrence, somewhat of a ritual and way of life for the couple. He stood from his spot and crumpled the letter, tossing it aside as he began walking. 

She scrambled to follow him, “Where did you go this morning?”

Wordlessly, he reached into the recesses of his cloak, and produced a red apple in his palm. He nearly shoved the fruit into her hand, and she stared in surprise. 

“I already ate.” He informed, continuing his push through the forest. 

He had gotten her food. He had left early in the morning to get her food. He had fed himself, making one less thing for her to worry about. If she had a heart, it would've jumped for joy.

“You’re wonderful,” she informed him with a smile. 

He looked at her, face flat as he examined the curvature of her lips. She wondered if he still thought it was breathtaking, though she’d never agreed with his sentiment in the first place. 

Dimitri was apparently feeling better that day, as all she received was a ‘humph’. No arguments, no talk of death or ghosts, just a ‘humph’. 

Progress. 

It was the best apple she’d ever tasted. 


	4. The Love of Byleth Blaiddyd

_I'll wrap myself around you_ _where we can't be found_

_I'll hide you from the world_

_until we're forgotten_

_\- 'In The Morning I'll Be Better' Tennis_

* * *

**The Kidnapping of A Holy Man For A Very Odd Wedding**

**Dimitri's Point of View**

Dimitri was not entirely used to his body as an adult, and shimmying through chapel window proved more of a challenge than he preferred it to be. 

“Damn growth spurt,” was a common complaint he had since the tender age of 21, when he found himself having to bend to avoid hitting tree branches with his forehead. It seemed as if then his limbs became too gangly for him to control. It felt like a second puberty, _without_ the raging hormones or acne. Now, the curse escaped his lips as he pushed himself through a broken window, hoping he was silent enough to commit his crime. 

Unsurprisingly, his shoulders would not even fit. 

Dimitri leveled himself, pushing his foot against the side of the building and using it to force his body through. With a grunt of frustration, he pushed, he squeezed, he propelled - and he looked absolutely stupid. He could only imagine the laugh that Byleth would have upon seeing his bottom stuck in the air as he squirmed like an animal in a trap. 

How humiliating. Pausing, he exhaled and relaxed his muscles - as relaxed as they could possibly go, which was not very much. 

Was this really the best way? Not that the one eyed beast cared much for the _best_ ways to fulfill his goals, yet he found that he wasn’t quite in the mood to face an entire village with pitchforks. If he was caught making a ruckus at the chapel, innocent, misguided people would come to defend their holy place, and Dimitri would have no choice but to be an absolute boar against innocents. Such a thing would only conclude in a rather bloody slaughter, and Byleth had just cleaned his cloak yesterday. She’d nag his ears off if he came back covered in blood _again_. 

Yet, sneaking was not a Blaiddyd’s forte. It had never been the main choice for any Blaiddyd, or really any house of Faerghus. While his ancestry didn’t particularly matter in his current choices - unless they were bothering him from the dead - it felt incredibly unnatural to try to break into a chapel like some common thief. Dimitri was not a silent, stealthy man. 

And his shoulders still would not fit through the window. Perhaps if he got some butter…

“Hello?”

The prince lifted his gaze, locking eyes with an old man in heavy robes. He held a candle as he warily approached the person hanging halfway through his window. The old priest wore a wary expression, but his eyes shined with compassion. Dimitri found himself unnerved underneath his gaze, though it may have been the fact that he was stuck in a window as well. 

“Hello,” Dimitri could hear how gruff his voice sounded, and cleared his throat almost awkwardly, “Are you the priest?” Byleth would simply die of laughter if she could see his escapade. 

The man clutched himself in hesitation, “I am...”

“I…” what to say? Hello priest, I need you to come to my camp in the forest and marry me and this naggy, harpy woman so she’ll stop bothering me. I can’t pay you and I want it done in 2 minutes total. Deal? 

Lambert stood behind the priest with a look of frustration, hands on his hips as he stared at his very silly, very _stuck_ son, “ _You’re an idiot. This is just a distraction.”_

Not for long, thought Dimitri, she’ll shut up when we marry, and I’ll finally be able to focus. With Byleth around, distractions had become a mainstay of his life. It was an entirely unwelcome change, one he hoped to negate. 

_“You’re being selfish, boy. You want to marry for love,”_ Lambert laughed, blood spilling from between his teeth and making Dimitri’s stomach churn, _“That poor girl. You’ve always wanted to marry her, she’ll never escape your clutches, will she? She’ll have to put up with you for the rest of her life. I pity her fate.”_

_She'll never escape your clutches._ That was a _sickening_ thought. Yet, would she have less of a pitiable fate if they did _not_ marry? Most likely, but Dimitri’s own future was bleak, and if Byleth was truly so determined to follow him to the ends of the universe, her fate would be just as dark. He could only wonder how much different it would be if they were married - and if it really mattered in the first place. 

Frowning, he stared past the shoulder of the priest, who only deigned to look at him with pity. Dimitri despised that familiar face, the wrinkled chin and the cocked head, the look that said ‘oh poor crazy man, talking to himself while hanging out a window’. 

Dimitri closed his eye and set the anger aside. If only for a moment, he would have to control his emotions. Lambert sighed in disappointment at his son. 

The priest’s fear had turned to pity and mercy for the zoned-out vagabond in the window. Dimitri noticed the look on his face, and took the opportunity to play on the vulnerable emotions of the holy man. He gave his best sigh, “I wanted to confess my sins before Seiros, father.”

His eyes softened, even more pity coloring his face, “My son, you didn’t have to sneak through the window. You could’ve just knocked.”

“I didn’t want to wake you just so I could pray,” it was torturous, acting casual while Glenn lay dead on a nearby pew, “I apologize for breaking your window, though, I’ll pay for that.” He wouldn’t, of course, “my emotions, you see…” Dimitri tore his eyes away from the corpse, instead staring at the floor, “they get the best of me sometimes. I’m just… in so much pain.”

Not a lie. Lambert had always taught his son to be honest. Even monsters could tell the truth. 

“My boy," another head cock, another merciful grimace, "I’ll go unlock the doors for you. You pull yourself out, and I’ll let you pray to the Goddess in peace.”

Having to thank the priest and try to seem genuine about it was hardly an easy task for the one eyed beast, but he seemed to act well enough to convince the old man. 

Dimitri yanked himself from his position, his arms aching with soreness at being crushed between the bricks of the building. Trying to not look like a stormy, brooding monster, he made his way around the chapel and to the front where the priest waited. He held the door open innocently, not knowing the plans of this stranger with one eye. 

Dimitri stepped inside. His skin crawled. “I don’t feel that I’m worthy.”

Also, not a lie. Dimitri, even now, was an honest man. Perhaps too honest. 

“My son, don’t you worry,” the priest reassured, his candle lighting the small area around them. He had a kind face, wrinkled with laugh lines around his mouth, “Seiros always forgives.” 

“Does she?” He gazed at the altar, a statue smaller than him depicting a young, robed woman with her hands clasped. She had a pretty, but blobby face. Byleth was much more beautiful. “I’ve met Sothis, you know.”

The priest smiled as if he was familiar to delusional fools using the Goddess’s true name in vain, “Have you now?”

“A form of her, at least” his voice was dark, low, “I’m not really sure _what_ she is. Sometimes, she’s as still as the sea before a storm, something inhuman and powerful that man cannot describe, nor control. Other times, she’s an obnoxious 21 year old woman who picks flowers and braids them into her hair, who catches frogs and beetles and gives them stupid names."

He could not choose which side of her he loved more. Lambert frowned, throwing his head back in annoyance, _“You dastardly sap, this is all just a distraction. Bring me her head.”_

I will, Dimitri reminded mentally, I just have to take care of something first. 

The priest was a patient, kind man, only patting him on the shoulder - surprised as his hand made contact with steel armor underneath the furs and the cloak. Gingerly, he led him to the altar, “Pray about it. Pray to her, and confess your sins. She already knows, of course, but it’s just better for the heart if you confess.”

Heart, he says. Dimitri didn’t have a heart, no monsters did. His sins were too lofty to number, let alone confess. He’d be there all night. 

“My sin,” Dimitri had never willingly stood before an altar before, that would’ve been like a stab in the gut, even five years prior. He stopped in place, despite the nudging of the priest, and looked at the old man, “is kidnapping.”

His eyes widened in shock, “Kidnapping… _who_?”

“You.”

How villainous! If Dimitri ever felt in good spirits he would’ve laughed at his witty line, and the dramatics of it all. 

He pushed the priest to the ground. Dimitri watched him flinch and yelp in pain and surprise. He would not have any chance to call for help, as he knelt down to lift his head and wrap a dirty rag around his jaw. He covered his mouth and stuffed the excess fabric between his teeth. The priest’s wild hands were like small flies to the boar that held him down. 

“I have a job for you,” the prince whispered, leaning in and wrapping rope around his wrists so he would stop fighting, “I know you would never agree otherwise. You’d only marry us if you knew we hadn’t slept together, or if she had a dowry, or if we were part of your village,” he chuckled, “We haven’t any of that. Yet, I've barely ever kissed her, and that was years ago, if that makes you feel any better. It’s all very innocent, and I’m sure Sothis agrees. No,” he mused darkly, “I _know_ she agrees. She’s the one who asked me in the first place."

The old man’s eyes widened in fear. Dimitri devoured the look on his face with glee. 

“You can try screaming, I’ll just twist your neck if you get loud enough.”

He gathered the man up and threw him over his shoulder like a rag doll. Walking down the aisle and out the entrance, he kicked the massive door shut with his foot, and made his way around the building to disappear into the forest. 

The priest wiggled, and writhed under his grip. Dimitri rolled his eye - the other had lost it’s movement long ago - and stepped over the branches and thorns as he walked back to camp. 

Eventually, after a fourth of a mile, the wriggling became too irksome, and he dropped the man onto the ground. Grabbing the rope, he began dragging him, pulling his body over the twigs and roots. “Stay quiet, old man, you’re on the job.”

The gagged mumbling grew louder with more protesting. Dimitri yanked him especially hard, and the throaty sounds died with begrudging complacency. 

Byleth was beautiful as he arrived, with the morning grey coloring her mint hair. Her eyes were wide, a look of surprise that he would’ve called pleasant at one time, but her gaze was more-so filled with shock and fear. Lambert, Glenn, and Patricia walked beside him with their respective bloody, death-dealing wounds - his wedding party had arrived.

“What in Sothis’s name?” She sat up, scrambling to stand and to meet him on the edge of camp, “Did you _kidnap_ someone?”

Her questioning was irritating and entirely too obvious. He didn’t bother to hide his expression of vexation. The priest began to wriggle and writhe as he tried to turn and get a look at Byleth. 

The holy man's eyes widened at the sight of green hair and eyes, of her ears that were slightly pointed. He was not dumb, this old man, he knew what kind of person stood before him. His gaze flickered from Dimitri, and back to the woman with the coloring and features of those chosen by the Goddess. Confusion painted his face.

Of course, she hadn’t _noticed_ that her ears were changing, that _she_ was changing. Dimitri kept a very close watch on her person due to any suspicions of betrayal, and had noticed when she pushed her hair behind her ears, that the tips were closing in on each other, becoming more pointed, and more sharp, day by day. 

Whatever his fiance was becoming was not human. But had she ever been?

Had _he_ ever been?

_“What a wonderful match,”_ Glenn spat sardonically, _“a monstrous murderer, and an inhuman goddess vessel with time powers. So romantic.”_

Yes, thought Dimitri, a goddess vessel that’ll use said time powers for my vengeance. How romantic.

In his heart of hearts, he knew it wasn’t. Five years prior, he may have had a few romantic bones in his body, like everybody did, but they were the little bones, the ones that could be broken without a day's notice. Like his pinky finger - broken when he was 10 in a dodgeball game, and the healers had just waved him off as if he was making his pain up. 

_His_ romantic bones were small, breakable, and ignorable. Glenn knew that, and only scoffed at him. Glenn knew everything. 

Dimitri pulled the priest up to a tree trunk carelessly, dropping the rope and narrowing his eye at his fiance, “You will not nag me any longer, woman.”

“What’s… the meaning of this?”

Obvious. Byleth had never been good at reading a room. 

“We’re getting married.”

**A Week Later**

**The Honeymoon**

“‘Furthermore, then, Loog tore viciously from the sea shore with a mighty call of power, beating his great drum-chest with screams and shouts, and gauntlet and metal. The Maiden tendered the robust call with her smile a sunbeam to the landscape and her countenance alluring to all the hardened warriors of season surrounding the watery marble shore. Courtward going, the army’s feet pounded the world’ - Ugh. What does that even mean? Why are there so many adjectives?”

Dimitri kept his eyes on the stars above, “Keep going.”

Keep going, he says, he _commands_. Byleth could have thrown the book right at him in that moment.

“As you wish,” she defeated, fingers clenching the sides of the old tome tightly. She turned the page, and her stomach churned at the tiny text painting every inch of the parchment. _This_ was the book dear Ashe had been so passionate about? _This_ was the book Dimitri read over and over as a child? 

Loog and The Maiden of The Wind was a dreary, long-drawn, clump of words put in an order only the author could understand. Byleth, being a professor, was very supportive of expanding one’s mind in order to grasp more difficult texts, but this was just so incredibly _droll_. 

“There has to be another translation,” she muttered, “this is just… superfluous.”

“This is the only one.”

She eyed the man in front of her. Dimitri, who lay perfectly still for _once_ , one of the rare nights that he wasn’t a twitchy, pacing mess. She imagined him reading Loog and The Maiden of The Wind as a child, stuck in a dark room in the castle with only weapons and books for friends. It nearly explained his serious countenance - when one’s entertainment was a long-winded historical text masquerading as fiction, one tended to adopt said qualities. 

Not that Dimitri was long winded - only sometimes - but rather, he quite resembled Loog, in a way. The tragic King, who toppled mountains and saw a world around him that nobody else could. How picturesque, _how_ _theatrical_ , that this prince before her would one day kill his own step sister, probably get himself killed in the process, and be the hero of his own drawn-out historical text/fiction novel one day. 

Tragic. It was unfortunate for Byleth that she was married to said prince, and she did not consider herself a Goddess as Rhea had begun to five years prior. Byleth felt like a human, an odd one, but human nonetheless. As she stared at Dimitri’s profile, she wondered if she could possibly be enough to turn him around from the theatrical, desperate fate that lay before him. 

Or would she be the sad woman who dared to fall in love with the mad prince? Would she be overtaken by her emotions? Would she give flowers to the court, sing under her breath and dance, hoping with every inch of herself to be a part of his world, even just for a minute? Would the raging river one day give her some semblance of relief? Was it a soggy, drowned fate that awaited her? 

Macabre. She nearly shook her head, as if that could erase the thoughts that settled in. Even just reading this monstrosity of text had turned her into a poet. Her frown was etched, sculpted onto her face as she stared at the King, her husband. His overdramatic influence had surely rubbed off on her as well. 

Dimitri, noticing her silence, turned to look at her. His expression was flat - he would’ve smiled five years ago. “Read.”

“Does it help?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he returned his gaze to the sky above, “just read.”

“I _hope_ it helps,” she mused as she looked at the book once more, the page golden from the firelight. Whether it helped Dimitri’s mind be silenced or not, she had no clue. She only read because he insisted, and had only started reading in the first place out of simple boredom. He seemed to take to her reading, and was very still as he closed his one eye. 

She cleared her throat, “‘To King, came victor, sweet as honeysuckle on the tongue’ - what’s honeysuckle, Dima?”

He opened his eye, “It’s a flower.”

“Does it taste good?”

A pause, “I don’t remember.”

“Will you find some for me and let me try it?”

Dimitri sighed. He never answered questions of _that_ nature, questions that hinted at a future of life and happiness. “Keep reading.”

She complied with a sigh, “‘Was there ever so splendid a warrior-king as he, Loog of Faerghus? The stars wept oceans, honor for him was supplied with fervor at his might and the wind sung his name through the trees…’ That’s kind of pretty, I hope that’ll be you one day.”

“Can you not read anything without interrupting with your own asinine thoughts?”

Byleth frowned at his snap, “You don’t have to be rude about it. I don’t want to read for you anymore.” It was childish, she knew, but _he_ was more childish and uncontrolled than she ever would be. Shutting the book harshly and tossing it onto the ground beside him, she lay in her thin sleeping bag with her back facing him. 

It wasn’t as if she were not used to his moods. She was more used to them than she liked to be, yet it was such a rare moment of peace and calm that they had captured. Dimitri’s sharp tongue could not keep itself sheathed, and he cared not for her feelings on the matter, obviously. If _he_ was going to be childish, _she_ would return the favor.

“What do I expect?” A complaint spoken aloud, “I should’ve never started reading in the first place.”

She heard a rustle. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught him picking the book up, and opening it to the page she had dog-eared. Quietly, almost _normally_ he began to read to himself. 

His lips moved. Byleth couldn’t hear a word, but she knew what he was doing. Subtly, she glanced over her shoulder to watch him.

A furrowed brow. His good eye crinkled at the corner as he squinted to capture the tiny print of the page. The golden light of the fire was not good for reading in, but it was all they had. Byleth turned over and lay on her side, resting her cheek on her arm and watching him. This was something normal, something he would’ve done five years prior, something that didn’t involve the dead, ghosts, or murder. A hobby, one might say, a reflection of the kind gentleman he used to be. He lay before her, innocent and unaware to her owl-like gaze. 

Wonderful. 

Her anger washed away. It was carried into the ocean, never to be seen again. She watched him, and something like happiness, affection, _warmth_ bloomed in her chest. Her heart did not race, she was sure it was doing _something_ in there, yet it felt as if happiness had kicked the wind out of her. A smile found it's way to her lips. 

Dimitri stopped. Byleth faltered in her joy.

He snapped the book shut and tossed it aside carelessly. Good things could never last. The shaking was back, his fingers returning to drum endlessly on his stomach. Byleth tucked the novel into her bag with ginger care and watched him. 

“What is it?” She whispered.

He didn’t seem to hear her, whether by choice, or by his fear. 

“Dima,” she drew closer, “You can tell me.”

His response was not to her, but to the sky above, “I promise, I promise I’ll get her head. I know I’m it hasn’t happened yet. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

There was something about love, about marriage and relationships, that Byleth never could’ve predicted. What Dimitri felt, she couldn’t help but feel in turn. His torture was her torture, and his fearful mumbling like a stab to her stomach. She crawled to him, laying at his side and staring at the sky exactly as he was. 

Her words were strong, courageous and unfaltering as she spoke to thin-air, “Now, you there, leave him alone.”

Dimitri flinched and glanced at her incredulously, “Be quiet, he doesn’t want you here.”

Byleth kept her eyes on the stars. She saw nothing, but knew that he was seeing _everything_. “I know you’re impatient, but there’s nothing he can do right now. He’s only human, and he needs some sleep.”

“Shut up,” whether he said it to his ghost, or to her, she didn’t know, but his tone was harsh enough to halt her breath, “I know, I know, it’ll happen soon. I promise.”

“Yes, it will,” she put a hand on his arm, “but it won’t if you don’t get enough sleep to be able to move tomorrow.”

“Be quiet."

She ignored his command, “Who is it, may I ask?”

Byleth was shocked when he actually answered, though he did not spare her a glance on doing so. There was a scowl on his lips, his eye narrowing, “Glenn.”

“Tell Glenn that you need some sleep.”

Dimitri gestured above him wildly, “Tell him yourself!”

Byleth huffed and looked to where he gestured. It would've been humiliating with anyone else, but that would never be enough to stop her. Dimitri _believed_ that Glenn was there, he believed it enough to hold torturous conversations with himself, to tremble at the silence and shadows, even if they held nothing. 

Once, long ago, Jeralt had given her a lecture when she had seen a poor old woman in a village they visited, talking to thin air. Byleth thought she was odd, and it certainly was to a child, but Jeralt was unfazed by the sight. 

' _Be kind to types like her, kid_ ,' he lectured gruffly, ' _they can't help it_."

Dimitri can't help it.

Byleth huffed as if speaking to a real human being, instead of the sky and trees above, “Glenn! Please give it a rest! Dimitri needs to get some sleep,” she put her hands to her chest pleadingly, begging to thin air, “I love him very much, and I know that you did once too. And I know you’re impatient…” Dimitri shifted uncomfortably, but she went on, “but he’s only human.”

He muttered, “I’m not human, you fool. They can see through your lies.”

“Human or not,” she spoke slowly, “you still need rest, my dear. Please don’t worry,” she nuzzled her head into his shoulder, “I’ll be here.”

There always came a point where Byleth knew there was nothing more she could do. While he had calmed, his fingers still drummed, and his mumbling continued. 

She had said her peace, believing her words so much that she nearly could imagine Glenn - whatever he looked like - staring down at Dimitri with a scowl. _He_ certainly saw such a thing, and there would be nothing that she could do to help that. 

Yet, she could be there, at least. 

He didn’t pace that night, staying on the ground right beside her while she drifted into sleep. He was never a comfortable pillow, but his warmth was welcome against the cold breeze of the night air. 

Byleth awoke the next morning with her husband at her side, as a husband should always be. Most mornings, he was pacing the trees, or had left to stalk the roads for soldiers to attack. This morning, in a quite rare turn of events, Dimitri was still right beside her. 

She would keep her head nuzzled into his shoulder, her breath fanning his arm. It wasn’t exactly a cuddle, but it was enough touch to delight her every sense. He was there, laying peacefully, with the sun beaming down on his golden hair like a halo. 

Savoring the moment, she closed her eyes once more. 

“I know you’re awake.”

He knew she was awake. She frowned, yet stayed in her position, “How?”

“You stopped snoring.”

Byleth bolted up, “I do _not_ snore!”

He was beautiful, even when frowning. His arms had moved behind his head, a look that would seem almost casual if it was on anybody else besides Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. There were leaves in his hair, a cowlick on the left side, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. 

Heaven personified. She wanted to kiss that frown right off his stupid lips. 

Bluntness had always been a good quality of Byleth’s, though she preferred to call it being _bold._ “Do you want to kiss me?”

His brows furrowed, “Why would I need to kiss you?”

“It’s not a need, I mean it _can_ be a need, but it’s mainly a want.”

“What I _want_ is Edelgard’s head on a pike.”

This would get her killed. Yet, the threat of death had never stopped Byleth Eisner-Blaiddyd.

“Did you ever want to kiss Edelgard before?”

She was on her back an instant. Despite his girth, Dimitri could move like lightning when provoked enough. His fingers dug into her wrists painfully, and the sunlight illuminated his profile in a deceivingly heavenly way. 

“That woman killed my family, she’s killed thousands of people in this war of hers, and you’re asking me…” he seethed, “if I have ever wanted to show _affection_ to her?” 

Byleth blinked, unfazed and ignoring his hands on her wrists. She had endured far worse, but the fact that it was _Dimitri_ hurt more than the slice of a sword or the weight of his arms. 

“Yes. I’m asking exactly that. Were you in love with her at one time?”

He was baffled, in a very angry, very rage-induced way, “The dead call for her life, her blood to be spilled. And besides that-”

“There are things you think about besides that?”

“-the war that she’s started has taken innocent lives. She’s the strong exploiting the weak, rather than protecting. That woman is a monster,” his breath was hot on her face as he stared down at her, pinning her to the ground with one knee between her legs, “and _you’re_ concerned about our relationship? Whether I had feelings for her at some point? Whether I have feelings for _you_? You’re acting like a little girl, professor.”

“You say that as if being like a little girl is an insult,” Byleth spoke quietly, staring up at him, “to be innocent, to be someone who sees the beauty in the world and loves everybody around her, there’s nothing bad about that. I lived my life with death and distrust as my trade before meeting you and my lions, Dima. I have a family now, people I love, and that’s the only thing that’s gotten me through this life. I’m asking about kissing, and love, and affection because it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.”

He pulled back, sitting up and moving his legs so he was no longer leaning over her body. “It’s useless to me, a distraction that I have no need for.”

Ignoring him, she sat up, continuing to speak, “I mean familial love, friendly love, romantic love. Call me foolish all you want, but I ask about your feelings for Edelgard because I want to know what drives your passion. I ask about your feelings for _me_ because I’m trying to help you reach your goals with some semblance of sanity left, I just need to know how to do so.”

His eye narrowed, head cocked as he stared at her flatly, “You ask about that because you’re selfish.”

“That too, yes.”

“At least you admit it,” his smiles these days were always loose, twisted and careless, “humans are cowardly, never able to admit their faults.”

“Can you admit your own and tell me how you felt about Edelgard at one point?”

A pause. Silence falling and permeating through the air like poison. It suffocated him so harshly that he turned his head away and avoided her eyes. It was near torture for him to speak of his step-sister in a way that didn’t involve killing her. “Don’t say her name.”

Byleth pushed on, “Did you love her, Dimitri?”

“Go away.”

“Please answer me,” she put a hand on his, and he ripped it away from her touch. She ignored it, “I just want to understand you. I feel that I never truly have.”

“You cannot understand a murderer.”

“But I can understand my husband and best friend.”

He exhaled in frustration, “If you want an answer so desperately, I’ll tell you this at least. At some point, and in some way that woman was very dear to me,” he huffed, “is that what you want to hear? _Now_ , she’s an evil monster who must die, and I won’t hesitate to pull her head from her neck with my bare hands.”

Perhaps it was selfish to pressure him so terribly, yet relief flooded her chest. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a jealous wife that’s paranoid over an ex-girlfriend.”

“This is in vain, trying to understand the dead is impossible. Just know,” he glanced away darkly, “That I _will_ have her head.” 

It was macabre, yet Byleth couldn’t help herself. Her smile was bitter as she thought of Edelgard, the woman with the silver hair and the eyes that shined when she didn’t think anybody was looking. A young girl so tortured by something nobody else could understand. Byleth half wished that she'd never met her, so she would not imagine their psuedo friendship when Dimitri spoke of killing her so violently.

It was an odd feeling, these words. It was a sentence she found herself having trouble to say, though she knew it would please Dimitri. “And you’ll still let me put her head on a pike in front of Fhirdiad?”

He studied her, pausing before finding his words, “I would have it no other way.”

Happiness bloomed. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

****

* * *

Byleth could lift her sword even higher now, and the sheer excitement of doing so was enough to distract her mind from Dimtiri’s eccentricities, if only for a night. The sword of the creator was beautiful in her grip, and she admired it with glee. 

“I can’t believe it,” an exhale of excitement, a subtle smiling flitting over her lips, “I’m finally getting my strength back.”

Dimitri leaned against a nearby tree trunk. Even when not traveling or fighting, he looked ready for battle, tense and gripping his fists tightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His ankles were crossed, and his back against the tree as he studied her. 

She swung the sword once more, and somehow managed to not trip. Her arms ached, but not as harshly as they did weeks ago. Her strength was returning at long last. 

“I feel like a child,” she giggled, “like I’m just learning again.”

“You swing it like a child.”

“It’s not like I’m able to do much,” Byleth huffed, “my mind knows, but my body’s forgotten.”

“A body cannot forget battle.” Dimitri left his spot and stalked up to her as he spoke, looking bored as he took the place behind her back. “It’ll return to you.”

“I’d say that’s reassuring, but knowing you there’s a catch.”

He deigned to reply, only stepping in closer and wrapping his arms around her waist. His hands snaked up to her’s, so big against her own as he took the weight of the sword into his grip. There was no room left between his chest and her back, and she felt that she could no longer breathe with his close proximity. 

Hot air fanned her neck as he leaned down to bury his face into her skin. She could’ve melted, easily.

One foot nudged hers, and she followed his lead, placing her stance where he directed. How foolish, how incredibly stupid of her to not realize what her body was doing, so much so that he found the need to correct her. 

“I’m the professor here.” Byleth spoke quietly, a mix of irritation and affection at his touch. 

He spoke into her neck, “Don’t move.”

An odd reply for such a romantic, arousing moment. 

“Don’t move?”

“Don’t speak,” it was a hiss now, as his lips brushed against her skin, “they’re coming.”

And here Byleth was thinking that Dimitri was being romantic. 

A group of soldiers approached from over the hill. 

Dimitri kept his gaze on them, the math in his head nearly visible by the intent of his expression. He was most likely counting their numbers, counting their weapons and just how fierce they looked. It was only a small group of five, yet she and Dimitri remained outnumbered. 

“You’re going to fight them.” 

Byleth elbowed him in the gut, making him stumble back in surprise. She whipped around to face him, holding the sword with one hand as she waved it around with ease, “Are you crazy?”

“You’re not using both hands,” He gestured to her right hand, and she looked. The sword was an extension of her arm, something she barely thought of as she threatened him in her anger. 

Upon gazing in wonder, the weapon grew heavy once more. The soldiers were approaching with a nervous murmur as they noticed the two eccentrics standing in the road with a weapon drawn. Byleth’s arm ached once more, and the sword reminded her of it’s harsh existence. 

It was a realization that Dimitri had come to before she had. 

“I’m focusing too much,” her shoulders slumped, “how did you know?”

“You make a face when you’re thinking too hard.”

“Do the face for me, I need an example.”

He scowled, “If you don’t kill those soldiers, I’ll do it myself.”

They were drawing closer now, swords and lances and axes being drawn. The leader gave a loud, authoritative call, “You there! State your business!”

Byleth ignored him, “I don’t want to kill them, what if they’re just new recruits picked up from a farming village or something?”

“If they fight for that monster,” he spat, “then _they’re_ monsters too, you fool!” He brushed past her shoulder, stalking towards the group with his lance drawn, “I’ll do it myself.” Byleth turned away as the first man cried for help, and Dimitri broke into a run. 

The battle commenced with one body hitting the stony road below their feet. A clash of blade hitting blade, Dimitri’s light, easy laugh as he kicked someone in the stomach and dug his lance into their chest as they fell. 

“I cannot believe I’m married to him,” she mused, turning towards the battle and trying to take her mind off how heavy the sword in her hand was, “Why did I do that to myself?”

Dimitri had a smear of blood on his cheek. He was smiling so largely, so lovely in the setting sun. 

She sighed, “You’re in there somewhere, Blaiddyd.”

Was he? Or was this who he truly was? Dimitri wore the same face five years ago at Remire, five years ago when Edelgard revealed who she was. Was this his true nature, and she was just chasing after an illusion?

The thought, along with the copious amount of blood painting the road, made her stomach churn. 

Dimitri, who noticed her so well even now, figured out her problem before she did. Dimitri, who would subconsciously slow his walk so she could keep up. Dimitri, who just _stabbed_ someone. 

She needed a distraction, and as much as she hated to join her husband in his slaughter, it would’ve been the perfect moment to test her lack of focus on the sword. Perhaps that was why he chose to reveal it during this moment in the first place.

Dimitri, who was so intelligent even when darkness shrouded his impulse control. Byleth couldn’t help but adore him. 

A soldier had noticed her, now running towards her. Ignoring the ache of her arms, she raised the sword to weakly block him. It was only her quick, backwards step that stopped her from meeting her end. She took a deep breath, and attempted to clear her mind. 

It was odd to clear one’s mind in battle, as that was the time that it was most important to _fill_ the mind. She had to focus on not focusing, while also focusing on not getting hit by her enemy. An interesting challenge, one that drained her energy as she blocked another clumsy attack. 

Focusing so much on _not_ focusing had only landed her a swift cut across the abdomen, and a bruise on her ribcage from the boot of her enemy. 

Byleth stumbled away, and caught a look at the soldier. She was correct in her earlier assumption, her enemy simply looked scared as he stared at her through the slit in his helmet. Young, unwrinkled eyes, a soft jawline and skinny arms. 

He couldn’t have been older than 16, this boy. She stared at him, sword heavy in her hands as they locked eyes. 

“Please, just run,” she whispered, “he’s going to kill you.”

Dimitri, who was much too busy stabbing someone, took no notice of the exchange. Byleth wondered if he would notice the lack of one soldier in the group, and that he only killed four guards. 

The teenager sent a petrified glance to the one eyed beast, and knew instantly what, and who, she had meant. As quickly as he had came, he turned heel and ran. She watched the soldier’s retreat, and sighed in relief as she turned her attention to the older, more battle worn looking man avoiding Dimitri’s wrath. 

“I let him get away,” she caught his attention, forcing her mind to focus on _not_ being focused, holding up her sword with both hands as she pointed the blade at the older soldier, “but _you_ will pay for your sins.”

He laughed, “My sins? We’re all sinners, little lady.”

She _was_ a little lady, she supposed. She was only 5’5, and rather petite with small hands that held the blade awkwardly. But there was nothing wrong with being little, or with being a lady. His pet name irked her, and she only scowled.

Battle took over, it’s rightful place in her mind. The man was on his back in an instant with a swift kick of her leg, and a knock to his head from the side of her sword. The relic glowed lightly in her arms, weightless and smooth as if it was cutting through butter. 

She ignored his yelp of pain, and sliced his neck. Dimitri had finished his own fight, and was staring at her with furrowed brows and an expression of intensity. She casually wiped her blade on the side of the road into the grass, the red blood smearing like paint. 

“I think you’re right,” she straightened up, huffing, “I’m focusing too much.”

His gaze flickered to her abdomen, where an angry gash had stroked it’s way across her skin and through her clothing. She had not even felt it, and only remembered that she had been hurt when Dimitri’s eye lingered on her stomach. 

“You’re hurt.”

She looked down, surprised. The young soldier had attacked her earlier when she blocked so weakly, yet it was only the tip of his sword that had made contact. It wasn’t deep, and bled more than it should’ve. “Oh, yes, I am.”

As if he jinxed it, the wound began to ache for attention. She grimaced and clutched her stomach. 

Dimitri’s moods tended to switch like a fire catching onto a dry leaf. He had been calm from the warmth of the battle, and now burned furiously from his own rage. His expression was the dark clouds forming before a thunderstorm. 

“I’ll kill whoever did that,” he seethed, “where is the one that got away?”

She was humbled, “One that… got away?”

His eye narrowed, “I am not stupid. I know you let one run.”

“I’d really hoped that you wouldn’t notice.”

He stepped closer to her, anger burning hot, “Where did he go?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am not.”

Byleth’s earlier thoughts about being a ‘little lady’ were dashed, replaced by pure annoyance and hatred for being so petite as Dimitri leaned down and picked her up as if she was light as air. How she wished that she was large, tall and muscular so nobody could ever manhandle her with such ease. 

Of course, he could rip a tree from the ground if he wanted, and she would weigh nothing to him no matter her size, but she was not a ragdoll to be tossed around as he pleased. 

“I do not like being manhandled,” She protested, hating the feeling of his chest against her head, and his arms under her knees and back, hating the warmth of his body as he stepped over corpses and into the forest with her in his arms, “Let me down this instance.”

“As you wish.” His grip loosened, and she wildly clutched her hands around his neck to keep herself upright and in his arms

Upon noting her fear, he smirked. His grip tightened around her once more, and he continued through the trees with her against his chest. Frustrated, she seethed,“That wasn’t funny!”

“You’re the one clinging to me, wife.”

“Oh,” she rolled her eyes dramatically, “So _now_ I’m your wife?”

Dimitri’s voice was slow, a tone he only used when trying his best to keep his anger at bay, “Tell me which direction the dastard went, and I’ll put you down.”

“You’re carrying me in order to annoy me into telling you?” He had to know how much she hated it. He had carried her once before five years ago, and had almost dropped her upon her waking up and flailing wildly, smacking him in the face on accident and nearly making them both tumble down a rocky cliffside. Of course, five years ago he was much nicer and gentler. 

“I’m carrying you back to camp because you’d slow me down, and once we get there, I’ll go kill the fool who dared to touch you.”

“How romantic,” she drawled sarcastically, throwing her head back so she wouldn’t have to look at his chest any longer, “You really know how to woo a lady.”

“Which way did he go?”

“I refuse to say.”

“Tell me now, woman.”

“Call me that one more time and I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

“Where did he go?”

Byleth nearly blew up from frustration, “He was just defending himself! He was a kid! You were once 15 and terrified, forced into battle, weren’t you?”

Dimitri remained in stony silence. 

“You would’ve appreciated someone letting you go, wouldn’t you?” She forced her anger down her throat so she could poke at what little compassion he had left, “Let him live, I’ve already forgiven him.”

“You cannot forgive a man you don’t know, especially if he’s hurt you.” It was a mumble, quiet and subdued as he stepped into their camp. He lowered her onto the ground, a rare moment of the gentle man she knew five years prior.

Her wound stung, but it wasn’t deep enough to prove a problem. The worst that could happen was an infection. As Dimitri pulled back, and paced a circle around the clearing, Byleth dug into her bag for a vulnerary.

“He must pay,” He mumbled, mainly to himself as he faced away from her, blue cloak sweeping the ground like a flag at his back, “he has to die for hurting you.”

In one ear and out the other. She rolled her eyes as she dabbed the healing vulnerary onto her wound, “Why’re you so intent on this? You’re just being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He whipped around, stomping his way over to her and kneeling down on his heels so he could see her eye to eye. She ignored his intense gaze, and innocently dabbed at the wound as he spoke, “I’m dramatic for wanting to kill the man who hurt the woman I love?”

The blood in her veins froze. 

The woman he loves. He had said that to her, truly. Unless her ears had heard wrongly, or if she was imagining things. It also might’ve been a dream, and she truly was dying from her wounds. 

The woman he loves, he said. The woman he loves. Was that _her_?

There proved no possible way that Byleth could act casual, or innocent, or uncaring. She could only stare in disbelief. 

Dimitri stared back.

He did not look endearing, pleading, or genuine. He looked angry. He looked hollow, haunted and frustrated. 

She gulped, trying to find her voice, “You love me?”

“Yes,” he affirmed her as if she was dumb for even asking, “have you ever doubted that?”

The world was beginning to spin again. The bubble of disbelief and shock was popped as her expression turned incredulous, “Well, yes, you’ve told me otherwise quite a few times.”

He scowled, “I lied. I’m a beast, we lie.”

Instead of being overjoyed, all Byleth could muster was frustration. Frustration, confusion, and utter madness as she stared at the man she adored. “I don’t understand.”

His words were fierce, “I meant it when I told you once before, I’m not able to give you what you deserve. But you _never_ listen to me,” he darkened, “You thick-headed harpy, if you actually listened to me for once, you’d understand why I want you to _leave_ so damn badly.”

She did listen, far more than he knew. And she was not an unconfident person, she was fully aware that the Dimitri of five years prior loved her. She would be blind to not notice the longing glances, the soft touches of his hand that lingered for seconds longer than they should. And this was aside from the fact that he _proposed_ to her - even if he took it back immediately. 

This Dimitri, though, this wild man who never bathed, who heard voices and killed people so easily. She was not entirely sure about him, and what remained of her love from five years ago. Yet, with his words, those simple words hissed through his teeth and filled with so much venom; she knew. She knew, and she heard them, and she would paint them to her memory for as long as she could. She would hold onto them like a cactus held onto water, living in a desert with no rain.

When did she become such a lovesick romantic, she wondered. Jeralt certainly had not raised her that way, and she certainly was not that way before ever meeting Dimitri. The fact that his incredibly odd, weirdly angry love confession took her breath away was enough to inform her that she, in fact, has gone insane. 

“Because you love me?”

She could see the regret flashing over his face. If this had been his way of trying to get her to leave, it would not work. He seemed to just realize that. 

“Because,” it was begrudging, as if he was having trouble even thinking the words, “... yes, because I… was, _am_ , in love with you.”

She would take a leap. She would draw on her boldness, take the moment to break through his wall. Putting her hand on his cheek, watching him flinch away from her touch, she whispered, “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“No.”

“Why’re you telling me this, then?”

“I want you to listen to me,” ignoring her hand on his cheek, he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him, “You cannot have what you want from me. Not now, and not ever. You need to go away.”

“How could I leave when we’re so in love?” Teasing, a dig that she knew would get under his skin. How obnoxious she became when in his presence, she wondered how he’d ever fallen in love with her in the first place. 

He grimaced as if her absolute silliness was a blow to his mental state. “Don’t be stubborn. I need you to leave _because_ I’m in love with you. You’re a distraction, and frankly it pisses me off.”

“Sorry,” she rolled her eyes, “have you ever thought that me being a distraction would be a good thing?”

“No. It’s not.”

“Don’t you want to escape from your ghosts?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m still not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I love you.”

He frowned. 

“Please say it?”

“Go away.”

A wall thicker than ever was put up. She huffed, “This is hard for me too, you know,” she returned to dabbing her wound with the vulnerary, “I’ve never… _felt_ so much. It’s overwhelming.”

Dimitri pulled back to sit more comfortably, crossing his long legs over each other as he watched her tend to her wound. “If I could harness that power inside of you, of that Goddess…”

Byleth looked at him, annoyed that he even knew about such things in the first place. Of course, he had been her main confident once finding out what Jeralt had experienced when she was born, and what Rhea had planned for her. Back then, though, he was much more supportive about it. 

“I am your wife,” she informed stiffly, “not a meat bag for you to use for your vengeance.”

She was losing him once more. Dimitri’s mood had shifted. His once determined, intense gaze had turned blank, and he looked past her, looking at something only he could see.

“I’ll kill them all,” he mumbled, and Byleth’s stomach dropped as she watched him stand and stomp off into the trees, “I’ll find that soldier, and I’ll have his head.”

She sighed. There was no stopping him, not when he left her. She had her Dimitri, her gentle and loving Dimitri, if only for a moment. 

Just as before, only 15 seconds of normalcy would her husband allow. 

“The only thing you’ve done,” she called out after his retreating back, “is prove to me that you’re in there somewhere.”

It was almost a growl that escaped his throat. He was in his own thoughts, irritated at her interrupting them. 

“And we’re married,” she continued, “we’ll have 10 babies one day, and we’ll live in a cottage on a mountain surrounded by flowers and honeysuckle, and you’ll be okay and I’ll be okay and we’ll teach our children how to be okay... Okay?”

She didn’t know if he heard and was choosing to not respond. She watched him move further into the trees, disappearing from sight as the leaves and thorns covered him from her. 

Her wound was light enough that it was beginning to heal. Tired from the stress of confessions, of madness and of hopes being brightened and diminished within the span of minutes, she lay back and look at the darkening sky above.

Sothis would be calling her a fool, she knew. Perhaps she’d always been a fool. Perhaps she was always meant to be the one singing and mumbling and giving out flowers, waiting for her watery relief to wash out the sounds. 

How pitiful. How pitiful, she could almost hear Sothis saying. 

Byleth _did_ feel quite pitiful, and that would never do. She sat up, determined now as she looked at the sword of the creator lying next to her. 

He loves her. She was the woman he loved, despite the ghosts in his mind. He loved her. She would not be pitiful, and Dimitri would not be a victim to himself for much longer, if she could help it. 

One day, they would be a proper couple, and have 10 children in a mountainside cottage. He would show her how to eat honeysuckle, and she’d be happy, and he’d be happy. They would teach their children to be happy. She would read Loog stories to them, and they would smile and laugh and tell dumb jokes, and Dimitri would laugh at them and he wouldn’t have anyone he needed to kill. 

She raised her hand and looked at her ring. The green of the gem matched her eyes. It was a promise in physical form, a promise that she would never leave him, and would fight his battles alongside him. 

He loved her. He admitted it. 

Garreg Mach was only a day’s walk away. They would be within it’s walls once more, the very place where Byleth and Dimitri had fallen in love with each other over cherry-wood desks and graded papers. 

Things would change, and she knew it. 


	5. The Home of Byleth Blaiddyd

_And my love is no good_

_against the fortress that it made of you_

_Blood is running deep,_

_sorrow that you keep_

_\- "Queen of Peace" Florence + The Machine_

Garreg Mach loomed before her. It was always looming, Byleth thought. She’d never _not_ seen it looming. 

Five years ago, Byleth's first visit to the monastery had only stirred her curiosity. Jeralt was shifting uncomfortably throughout the tour, and told her in hushed tones to watch her back. She, very stupidly, did not take her father's advice. How quickly those spiraling, intimidating towers became her home. Yet, now the curiosity was gone, replaced by a bubbling fear in her stomach. 

Anxiety. Anxiety upon returning home after her five year slumber. She _should_ be thrilled to be nearing the walls of the monastery. 

Uneasily, her eyes shifted to Dimitri. How would he react to returning?

The hike up the mountainside had been quiet and heavy. Byleth and Dimitri carried on very little conversation, but the silence was comfortable between them. Finally, as their journey came to it's end, Byleth felt an inner prodding to fill the silence with casual, thoughtless words - if only to give her mind something to focus on that wasn't a feeling of impending doom. 

Unfortunately, Dimitri did not _want_ to be questioned. He caught her just as she opened her mouth, “So-” and she was immediately silenced by a dagger-like glare over his shoulder. 

She closed her mouth and huffed. Despite his preference for silence, her nervousness proved unrelenting. Whatever fate awaited them beyond those walls was unknown, and Byleth _hated_ the unknown. 

Dimitri pulled himself up onto a higher boulder, moving forward quickly as Byleth followed at a slower pace. Her muscles and stamina had grown exponentially over their travels, yet she found her arms still aching with the challenge of the Oghma mountains. It wasn’t _too_ steep to need a rope, but the boulders were big enough to prove tiresome. 

Dimitri had no problems. He left his wife in the dust as he dug his feet into the ground, pushed and pulled until he had a better vantage point to observe the walls of the monastery. Like a true Northerner, no mountain could keep him at bay. Byleth, who was much more accustomed to forestry, enjoyed herself far less among the rocks. 

He stood on a boulder with his hands on his hips and let out a satisfied sigh. A minute later, a huffing Byleth finally joined him. She bent over and rested her hands on her knees as she attempted to steady her breathing. It was while she caught her breath again that Dimitri would allow their silence to be broken. His smile was twisted, gleeful in a way that she hated seeing. She wished that he would smile like he used to, but he seemed to have forgotten how to even make such an expression. He only looked over his shoulder and twisted his lips, “We’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” She glared, still huffing, “I couldn’t tell.”

Dimitri had a talent for ignoring her sarcasm. He turned away and pushed himself off the top of the rock, sliding down onto the soft ground. It looked like a small trail that the deer traversed, a portion of the cliffs that didn’t require boulder-hopping. Byleth followed with a groan. 

Excited now, Dimitri barrelled through the path with no sign of stopping. He broke brittle limbs and tossed them aside as he stormed up to the monastery, laughing to himself in a way only he could understand. “My revenge is _finally_ near - it’s finally beginning!”

He was out of breath, though more because of excitement than lack of stamina. Eager, he broke into a run up the hill, and Byleth chased after him as quickly as she could manage with her aching legs. She huffed, “Wait! We don’t know what’s in there!”

The wind rushed past her ears. If she had a heart, it would’ve beat in her throat. Opening her arms, she nearly tackled Dimitri from behind. She buried her face into his cloak and dug her feet into the ground. Stubbornly, she entangled her fingers together in front of his stomach, and he stopped in his tracks when her grip tightened around him. He was like a child being held back by his mother, complete with an eye roll and a frown, “Unhand me, woman!”

It was a command she would pointedly ignore. As humiliating as it was to nearly tackle one's husband, she would do what she needed to keep him from running into a slaughter by himself. If she could run into the slaughter with him, that would be much more preferred. “You need to stop, Dima,” her voice was muffled in his fur cloak, “don’t just run in there. Please? Keep beside me?"

A thoughtful pause. “Byleth,” he spoke slowly, as if she was dumb, “ _unhand_ _me_. I don’t want to push you off.”

At least there was that. She could take reassurance in the fact that he didn’t want to hurt her, though she already knew such a thing. Even when haunted, Dimitri wouldn’t lay a hand on her willingly. Complying, she untangled her fingers and slipped away from his body, “We don’t know what’s in there.”

With Dimitri’s excitement having been crushed, he ignored her and began to stomp through the path once more. He was not running, and it was easier for Byleth to keep up with him as he followed the trail, “It’ll be fine.”

“Please,” she reached for his hand desperately, “just stay with me, don’t go in there by yourself.”

“This is not the time to reminiscence.”

“I’m not nostalgic, Dimitri,” huffing, she finally caught his hand and squeezed the cold steel, “I just don’t want you to run into an ambush.”

“I don’t care.”

_Of_ _course_ he didn’t. Byleth refused to let his hand go. She followed with hurried steps until the ground levelled to a flat surface where the walls were built. They were too high to climb without a rope, so with Byleth in tow, Dimitri veered right and followed along the expanse of the wall. 

They were on the East side, around the back of the dorm rooms. The building grew large enough to cover the setting sun while they rushed around the length of the monastery. Byleth stumbled as Dimitri pulled her along, looking up to catch a glimpse of the window to Dimitri’s old dorm room. 

it looked filthy, uncleaned in years. The memories behind that window were too numerous to recount. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought of how improper it had been for a professor to spend so much time in a student’s dorm, yet neither of them had cared enough to stop it. Even Dimitri's adherence to rules was cast aside when it came to Byleth. 

Finally, Dimitri rounded another corner. She squeezed his hand at the sudden appearance of the open gates. The lack of guards or merchants began to eat away at her anxiety once more - it was empty, she had never seen the front entrance so barren. 

He slowed in his pace, “Finally.” A mutter, another gleeful smile. Byleth’s stomach dropped at what awaited them. 

As he wrenched his hand from hers harshly, he broke into another eager run. It looked as if nobody had worked the gates for years, and they were permanently opened by the rust growing along the massive gears. Dimitri, with his lance drawn and breath shortening in sheer excitement, ignored everything around him to burst into the monastery. His vengeance was near. 

It was one day before the Millenium Festival, Edelgard _had_ to be there with her army of monsters. She _had_ to. She had no _choice_ but to. At least in his mind, the logic made perfect sense. How wonderful it would be to just get the damn thing over with, to slice off her head and burn her body in front of her own classroom. And finally, Dimitri could rest. 

Yet. 

Edelgard was not there. Nobody was. 

Byleth found Dimitri standing in the middle of the road. It was empty. Dust puffed through the air where Dimitri had kicked it up with his entrance. His shoulders shook as he stared ahead of him. 

Empty. 

There was no army. Byleth only watched her husband from behind, wondering what exactly he suspected. What had _she_ expected? 

“There might be bandits,” she admitted, her voice oddly loud in the quiet of the monastery, “that’s really what I was afraid of.”

Her offering did nothing to please him. He seethed even more harshly, teeth grinding, “I expected her to be here.”

Byleth paused. Incredulous, she stepped towards him and took her place at his side. As always, it was where she felt she belonged, even when anger and confusion overtook her mind, such as in moments like these. She stared at his angry, disbelieving expression, and furrowed her brows, “It’s like… It’s like you don’t listen to me. I read you that letter we found on the courier, it said that she wouldn’t be here. What did you expect?"

Once more, she wondered what _she_ expected. His own excitement had gotten to her, and it would be like Edelgard to pull such a trick on them. Yet, exactly what was said to happen was happening, and Byleth could only pretend that she wasn't disappointed. 

Dimitri ignored her. He began to walk again. It was like a dark cloud hung over his head as he stormed up the steps and into the reception hall. Byleth followed at his heels. 

What went on through his head? She scowled as she watched his back. He _knew_ that Edelgard wouldn’t be at the monastery, yet to have gotten so eager at the slim chance. Dimitri had always been so careful in everything he did, yet when his emotions took over he was a rampaging, illogical beast. It was as if the dead were possessing his body and mind. 

And Garreg Mach was empty. 

Her unlikely home, the one place Jeralt had tried to keep her from since birth, was saddeningly, maddeningly, _empty_. 

Dimitri’s spirits had fallen even further. His own dark mood began to creep onto Byleth as she trailed him like a lost puppy. Even the stray animals were gone, with only rats scurrying about in the corners. 

“There’s probably no food left,” she sighed, “I bet it’s been raided long ago.”

“We’ll be fine,” he grumbled. 

So darkly confident about something he had no idea about. Despite Edelgard not being there, it had been confirmed that her troops would be arriving soon enough. Byleth had no idea when, but to be only the two of them against a small army - that was not something she wanted to deal with on an empty stomach. 

“I suppose we can hunt nearby,” she mused as they went up the steps of the reception hall, the red carpet underneath dusty and tickling her nose, “and at least we can be out of the rain here.”

Once again, Dimitri ignored her. She followed him out of the hall and into the courtyard. The flags still flew in front of the large doors of the classrooms, and a wave of nostalgia rushed over her like a warm blanket. She stopped in her tracks to stare.

Dimitri continued walking, making a bee-line to the Black Eagles classroom. She watched the vibrant blue of the Blue Lions banners shimmer in the breeze. Her stomach churned, though she couldn't tell if it was anxiety again, or something much stronger. 

Dimitri gripped the end of the Black Eagles banner and ripped it from it's hanging. Red velvet cascaded down at his feet like water. He had no care for what was proper as he tread across them with muddy boots, and did the same to the other. 

Gathering the velvet banners in his arms, he dragged them to the middle of the courtyard with a stony expression, “We can start a fire with these.”

Byleth barely heard him. He dumped the flags into a pile and returned to the classroom. Dragging a desk out a moment later, he tossed it onto the pile. It was a blur as she stepped past him and towards the fated room at the end of the line. 

Her lions. _Her_ classroom. 

Dust had made it's home upon the torn apart furniture. Desks had been broken, and hers was splintered into several different pieces. The curtains were pulled down, and the chalk boards stolen from their mounts. Yet, she could simply close her eyes and imagine what used to be of this place. So easily, could she see her students, her friends and allies, sitting in their usual places. So easily, could she see the late nights spent reading by candlelight. 

So easily, could she see Dimitri, staring at her from his desk in the front of the room. He had always rested his cheek in his palm and watched her with intensity. At first, she ignored it as easily as she could, yet eventually the ignoring turned into smiles, catching each other's eyes and acting as if they weren't vying for each other's attention. 

So easily, so very easily, did she have the best days of her life in this room. So very easily, did she fall in love in this room.

She just couldn't help it. 

_“Professor,” a shake in his voice, a clutching of textbooks and a nervous smile, “I believe I’m lacking in my understanding of this subject.”_

_Ink staining her hands as she looked up from her papers, “Dimitri, you’re at the top of the class.”_

_“That doesn’t reflect my understanding.”_

_It did, actually. Byleth watched him flutter another nervous smile at her. This boy, 17 and innocent, bouncing his knee as he stood in front of her desk wishing to spend time with her. She felt terrible for wanting it too._

_“I suppose,” she tapped the end of her quill on her desk, musing, “we could meet over dinner tonight and discuss the semantics of environmental tactics, if you like?”_

_He lit up. The two shared a knowing look. Another night of carefully side stepping each other in the sweetest, most addictive way possible. If she denied herself, she would just spend the night thinking of him, wishing and hoping for another chance to be in his vicinity._

_The hopeful look in Dimitri's eyes told her that he was thinking the same thing. Despite their many talks about how they really shouldn't be meeting up to spend time together outside of class, the talks never stuck. Nothing ever did. This would happen, and there was nothing either of them could do about it that wouldn't be torturous._

_Might as well sin._

_“It’s a date- I mean, no it isn’t. We just, uh. Well, you know what I mean.”_

_Byleth quirked a rare smile, “It’s a date, Dimitri.”_

Where was he now? Byleth glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who broke part of a wooden desk over his knee and threw it onto the pile. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze and sending her a twisted grin. 

Goddess. She hated that smile. Goddess, the way his hair fell into his face so messily. Goddess, the way his hands and arms tightened when he worked. She hated him.

Not aware of her eyes on him, he pushed his hair back and away from his face. He straightened up and crossed his arms, staring at the pile of leftover furniture from Edelgard's classroom. His good eye shined with satisfaction and his smirk was devilish in his pleasure. 

She _adored_ him.

She adored him when he was ill. She adored him when he was not. She adored him even when he wasn’t a nervous 17 year old begging for an ounce of her attention. Nothing could change that. 

Yet, he was a man now, taller and stronger, someone so hurt by the world around him. He was a different person than before. 

But so was she. It could work, and she knew it. 

She left the classroom to join him in the middle of the courtyard. The tall grass brushed against her ankles as she trudged towards him. Saving Dimitri the trouble of having to use flint, she knelt down beside the debris pile and snapped her fingers. It was the only elemental spell she knew, and she tended to use it for candles. A flame sparked to life at the tip of her index finger, and she touched it to the fringe of the Black Eagles flag. 

It ate the velvet immediately. Dimitri watched in satisfaction as it traveled along the expanse and caught the edge of a desk in it’s wake. Byleth stood and leaned against him, boldly wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning into his side. 

It was a rare moment when he wasn't suffering a sensory overload. He didn’t refuse her touch this time. The flames seemed to lull him into a calm. Byleth watched his eye close and his chest exhale in relief. For once, she would feed into his lust for vengeance, “This is just a precursor. Edelgard will pay for what she’s done to you."

Dimitri hummed in the back of his throat, serene for the briefest, rarest of moments, “For what she’s done to everybody. To innocent people, to my family... The dead will be repaid.”

As much as Byleth despised talking about the dead, it was something she could understand. Jeralt had been her own ghost at one time. 

Dimitri was pleased at her agreement. How rare it was for them to be able to discuss the dead without it becoming an argument. His arm tightened around her as he leaned more into her body, almost too tall for her short, petite frame. 

Byleth looked up at him with a smile. Dimitri wouldn’t return it, only burying his face into her mint hair and taking in the scent. Lavender. She liked to rub it through her scalp after bathing, he had seen her do so several times on their travels together. 

A fire tickled up Dimitri’s throat. He shut his eyes. Lambert stood behind Byleth with a glare that could’ve killed, _“You’re wasting time.”_

Glenn joined, _“Who do you think you are? She doesn’t want you near her.”_

They were right, of course. Dimitri nodded in agreement and slipped his arm away from her waist. Byleth’s hair had been so soft on his cheek, one of the few luxuries he’d gotten in his life. Yet he didn’t deserve it, and he knew that she wanted none of it. He was an imposition, a monster tainting her skin with his touch. He wouldn't dare to make Byleth impure with his bloodstained hands. 

He stumbled back as if it burned him to touch her. With a sigh, Byleth ignored him. She entirely too used to his antics and mood changes. 

She stared into the growing flames with her expression growing blank, “Dima?"

He felt the silver wedding band under his glove, and desperately wanted to yank it off. With his throat burning even more, he was nearly gasping for air as he managed a throaty, "Hm?" in response to her inquiry. Lambert smiled serenely at his struggling son.

"Who would we be right now if none of this had happened?”

His throat cooled for a moment as he stiffened in defense, “There’s no purpose in asking that.”

“Humor me?”

More than ever did he want to throw that ring into the fire. “No.”

Their daily argument. Byleth frowned. The flames were warm on her cheeks as she huffed in her familiar way, “Would you still be married to me?”

A pause. Silence. The sound of crickets and crackling wood filled the air until Dimitri could find his answer among the voices. It was gruff and begrudging, but something she was delighted to hear nonetheless. “There isn’t a universe where you wouldn’t force me into marriage.”

How was right for once.

Byleth nearly laughed at the tone of his voice. He was stuck with her, no matter what came, and he knew it. 

Neither of them ate dinner that night, for there was no food to eat. Dimitri wouldn’t have wanted anything no matter the circumstances, though, as he had eventually made his way to the chapel to stare aimlessly at the pile of rubble before him. 

Byleth had attempted to clean up the classroom while Dimitri wandered around the empty monastery. It was dark with night falling by the time she found him hunched over himself in the chapel. 

Her boots on the dusty marble floors made a clacking noise as she approached. The pews were broken, and the pillars around the room beginning to crumble. She looked at the ceiling and felt as if the building would come down around her any minute then - much like her life. 

“I’m tired,” she announced, voice echoing, “Are you going to sleep tonight?”

He muttered darkly. His hair was messier than usual, as if he had been running his fingers through it in anxiety. No answer came to her question, only another quiet mumble and a shaking of his head. 

Byleth took that as a no. She didn’t want to be alone, and the mattress that had been in her old room was stolen long ago. She dusted off the pew and made a spot for herself on an intact seat. 

Lying down, she stared at the ceiling. Dimitri stayed in his spot in front of the rubble as she sighed, “Tomorrow is the festival.”

He grunted. 

“We’re together, at least. Just like you had promised.”

A pause. Dimitri shifted in place, “I promised nothing.”

“You sort of promised,” she argued softly, “You wanted to. Remember?” Just like his proposal. He had taken it back as if it was a joke, being so cruel so as to dangle hope in front of her and then change his mind so easily. 

He played with her heart. Byleth had always thought that it was she who played with him - she was quite the tease - yet in matters of the heart, it was Dimitri who dominated. 

Even now. Even now, as he kept his eyes on the rubble and ignored her, he dominated her heart. 

Byleth closed her eyes. The wood of the pew was hard against her back and head. 

Dimitri stayed awake. Byleth slept near him, and he kept watch over her through the darkness of the night. 

* * *

The day of the Millenium Festival had come.

Byleth awoke with the date firstly on her mind. Her eyes opened to the ceiling above her, growing moss and vines among the stones. She felt as dusty as the leftover furniture. 

Sitting up, she rubbed at her sore neck. Dimitri was nowhere to be found. Byleth stood and dusted herself off, stretching and feeling her joints pop from sleeping on the hard wood. So often had she come to this room to be alone with her thoughts, and now it was filled with rubble and dust. Nobody had been there to take care of it.

There was supposed to be a festival on this day, yet the only people in the monastery were herself and Dimitri. She followed the hallway to the goddess tower and climbed up the stairs where Dimitri had made his promise to her. 

They would be together on this day just as she planned. She only wished that the rest of her class was there with them. 

The morning light shone through the cracks in the walls. The tower was filled with cobwebs at the corners, and shadows filling anywhere the light couldn’t reach. Byleth kept a hand on her sword as the sound of mumbling grew louder. 

Dimitri leaned against the window and looked out. Byleth watched his back as he stretched to catch a glimpse of whatever he was trying to find. He had to know that she was there, he never let himself be taken by surprise. 

“This is where you proposed to me.”

He grunted, “Yes.”

It would be a dangerous question, yet it poked at her conscious in a way that she couldn’t ignore. Twiddling her hands in front of her, she watched him lean out of the same window he had that very night. “Did you know that… this would happen?”

“This?”

“This,” she gestured to him, “that you would be so... haunted?” It was the best, least offensive word she could think of. He had called himself much worse, dead even, but she wouldn’t support his ideals of himself. 

Dimitri snorted and pulled back from the window to look at her darkly, “Did I think that I would be put on trial, lose Dedue, and live like an animal for years? No, professor, I did not.”

She stiffened, “You called me Byleth yesterday. I liked that.”

He had called her Byleth when telling her to let go of him or he’d push her. How romantic. It merely hurt how he couldn’t find himself enough to allow her to touch him. He ignored her and turned back to the window, “Go away. I’m busy.”

“Busy staring out the window? What’re you looking for?”

He deigned to spare her any acknowledgement. He only tightened his grip on the edge, a few crumbles of stone falling from his fingers. “Rats.”

There were plenty of those in the monastery. He would have no trouble finding any. “You’re looking for rats outside of the tower?”

Dimitri pulled back and gestured for her to come forward. He stepped aside, careful to not touch her, as she took his place and leaned out of the window. 

There was a camp below the cliff. Smoke from a small fire trailed up into the sky, with a group of sleeping bags surrounding it. Weapons and alcohol bottles were scattered about on the ground. Rats, indeed. “I wonder if they’re the ones that have been raiding this place. What do you want to do about them?”

He smiled, “Hunt them.”

Byleth regretted asking. “Can we eat breakfast first?”

Dimitri didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and stalked down the stairs, blue cloak flowing behind him like a flag. Byleth followed at his heels, “I can go hunt a deer, it won’t take long, I promise!”

“Scum like them need to die _now_.”

“You think _everything_ has to die.” He continued down the stairs. Byleth chased after him with the determination of an angry mother. “You won’t be able to fight well if you don’t eat.”

“Don’t care.”

She groaned, “Yes you do.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled. The churning only drew her determination further as she clutched at his cloak and stumbled after him. These days, it felt like all Byleth did was chase after her husband and beg for him to be at least a _little_ human. 

Byleth was not a clumsy person, but she also had not eaten in several days. She shut her eyes as she followed him back into the chapel, yet even behind the darkness of her eyelids the world seemed to spin. 

Lightheaded, her foot caught onto the last step. Her fingers loosened from Dimitri’s cloak, making him stop in place and turn around in confusion as Byleth fell forward. Reflexively, he put his arms out and lunged forward to catch her against his chest. 

She was huffing as he wrapped his arms around her, “What’s wrong with you?” He steadied her feet onto the ground once more, “Are you hurt?”

Byleth’s smile was mocking, but weak, “Are you worried?”

Dimitri would never admit it, but he was. As he let go of her, she began to fall forward into his arms once more. He caught her, annoyed now, “You’re no use to me like this.”

Byleth’s world was swimming. She closed her eyes again to shut the dizziness away. Dimitri, frustrated at his wife’s refusal to stand up on her own, leaned down to slip an arm under her legs and pick her up. 

Even when about to faint, Byleth could scowl dangerously. Her head lolled against his chest, “I don’t like being manhandled.”

“Well,” he exhaled, “perhaps if you could stand on your own then I wouldn’t have to manhandle you.”

Her palm hitting against his chest was weak and pitiful. She groaned in annoyance, “Just feed me.”

Dimitri would comply, albeit begrudgingly. He carried her to the pew and set her down. She slumped forward and rested her head between her legs as he watched her with a frown. “What do you want?”

A shrug. He scowled, “I’ll feed you bugs if you don’t specify.”

Her voice was muffled from between her legs, “Whatever game you found outside the monastery, please. A-And please, don’t go near those bandits.”

He humphed in acknowledgement. Without an acknowledge of her plea, Dimitri left the chapel with a sweep of his cloak. Once he had disappeared through the doors, Byleth sat up and smiled. 

While she _was_ quite dizzy, and had not eaten in several days due to Dimitri wanting to move as quickly as possible, she wasn’t near fainting. She smirked and settled down further into the pew to get comfortable. 

With just a little acting, Dimitri would do what she wanted. There would be no rat hunting for that moment if she could help it.

****

* * *

It was after lunch, in the afternoon, when Dimitri’s antsy mood finally got the best of him. 

Byleth was finishing packing up and drying out the deer he had hunted for her, when he brushed past her through the courtyard like a man on a mission. She looked up from her work and watched her husband stalk across the grass and to the reception hall ahead. 

“Where’re you going?” She called after him, only earning a grunt in return. 

He was going to hunt, his silence said it all. She scrambled up, leaving the food on the ground, and chased after him. The sword of the creator bounced at her hip as she jogged to catch up.

“Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?” He was bitter as he stalked on. Byleth only frowned and kept a hand at her sword as she slowed in her jog to walk beside him. 

“You’re my husband. And you helped me this morning,” she reminded gently, “so I suppose it’s time for me to help you as well. That’s what spouses do.”

“I only fed you because you were no use to me dead from hunger.”

As much of it had been acting, the hunger was entirely real. Dimitri had dragged a deer into the chapel and dropped it in front of her like a cat with a dead mouse. She supposed he was quite like a cat, with how he played so fervently with his prey. 

Byleth had cooked and eaten the deer happily. Dimitri had only eaten a few bites, and that was after she had nagged him into it. As much as she despised nagging her husband, it seemed the only way to get him to take care of himself. 

She followed him through the empty monastery grounds. They passed by the pond and towards the marketplace. They had only been there for a day and a half, and Byleth already felt creeped out by the absolute emptiness of her home. 

“They’re on the West side, beside the river bank,” he informed gruffly, “there are 10 of them.”

Byleth furrowed her brows in thought. He had only been looking out of the Goddess tower for a few minutes this morning. “Did you stalk them while hunting earlier?”

“Yes.” He was still truthful, that much had not changed. Yet he had no shame for doing the very thing she had asked him not to. It was so different from the Dimitri she had fallen in love with originally. 

Yet, it was already done. There was nothing she could do about it now. She followed closely as he left the monastery and made his way towards the camp, muttering about rats the entire way there. 

It was odd how used to his eccentricities Byleth was. Even now, they moved in fluid movement with each other, just as they had always done. 

The bandits had been hiding in a ruin hidden by the tall trees of the forest. As the entrance neared, Dimitri put a hand out in front of her to stop her from moving any further. “We’re not alone.”

She paused. A furrowed brow. “Well, yeah? Obviously? We’re in a bandit camp.”

“No,” he hissed, “there are others.”

How vague. Byleth kept an observant eye out as she stepped more behind Dimitri’s arm. He took a careful step forward into the ruin, and dodged an immediate arrow. 

The wooden shaft of the arrow was sliced in half with his lance in an instance. Byleth ducked and unsheathed her sword. It’s power flowed through her arms, yet she had to remind herself to not focus. To focus on not focusing. 

The bandits were ahead, among the trees and behind the crumbling walls. Dimitri was about to become a monster, a killer with his lance, and Byleth would cover him as best as she could with her recovering strength. 

The battle began as he threw his lance at the archer. A body fell out of the branches, and Dimitri ran forward to rip his lance from the bandit’s chest. Byleth was unfazed as she followed, sword in hand as she ducked another arrow. It came from her left, and she had spotted the man in an instant. 

They had to have heard them approaching to be this prepared. Or, perhaps they were expecting another attack from somebody else. She had no idea who else could be there, but Dimitri was expecting something other than the bandits to show up. 

“Who else is here?” She asked over the fray of yells from their enemies. 

Dimitri cut down an attacker and whipped his head to yell back, “I saw a pegasus flying over the trees!”

“So?”

“There was no pegasus earlier!”

Byleth thought of this as she ducked another arrow. It was quite annoying, the new bandits approaching from behind the walls. She scowled as a swordsman approached her with a grin. Yet, her mind was on the mysterious pegasus. Adrestian soldiers? Or Faerghus soldiers? Perhaps even the Alliance was there? It was also the possibility of the bandits just having reinforcements that Dimitri didn’t see earlier. As she mused over this, she slashed at the bandit swordsman and cut him down. 

Her absolute lack of focus had given her the strength to fight relatively close to how she used to. Smiling, she let her mind wander as she entered the fray with her husband. 

There was no pegasus to be found among the bandits. Byleth and Dimitri were surrounded, back to back as they fought off the crowd forming around them. Byleth dodged another jab, letting Dimitri elbow the man in the face as he got too close to his wife. She, then, kicked another bandit in the stomach as he closed in on Dimitri’s side with an ax. 

Despite protecting each other’s backs, she caught a glimpse of blood leaking through his dark armor on his rib cage. She took a quick glance, scowling, “You’re hurt, let me heal yo-”

“No,” he snapped, “it’s a waste.”

“It’s not,” she argued venemously, “you need healing, Dima. Let me-”

“No,” he nudged her, making her stumble away from him as he took another jab at an approaching bandit. She would’ve been hit if he had not pushed her, yet Byleth took no notice with her worry taking over her mind. He would always refuse her such things. Byleth knew a small healing spell, and she fully intended to use it on him, yet he never allowed her. 

As she began to argue further, Dimitri finished off the last bandit with a swipe of his lance. The man fell to the ground between him and Byleth. She glanced at the bandit and frowned, "Ew, he got blood on my shoes."

Dimitri smirked, "They look better now."

"That's gross."

His free hand went to his side. He held the wound with a tight hand and took a deep breath, though he would not allow the true pain to show on his face. Byleth watched with worry, "Just let me do something about it."

"I'm fi-" 

Dimitri froze. His lips parted in surprise, eye widening as he stared over Byleth's shoulder. She took no notice of his sudden change, “You need to stay still, I’m going to heal you.”

He scowled, eye flickering back to her, “Silence, woman.”

“You _know_ I hate being called that,” she stepped forward with her hands raised, “stay still, asshole.”

“Silence!”

His arm was around her in an instance, mouth clamping over her mouth as he twisted her around and pulled her away. He was so much taller, able to devour her in his hold so quickly as he yanked her back. Byleth struggled against him, but his hand only tightened around her mouth as he stared ahead with a determined, suspicious gaze.

Finally calming against him, she looked up to follow his eye. She, too, froze. 

Gilbert Pronislav stood in the middle of the ruin.

His ax grazed against the soft ground as he stared, open mouthed, at the lost prince holding the professor. The bandits that had been surrounding them were defeated, and only the sound of fighting in the distance filled the air. No crickets chirped, no birds sang. Excitement beat in Byleth's ears, yet her smile was covered behind Dimitri's armored hand. 

With both hands, she reached up to rip his hand away from her mouth. He finally relented, and she held his palm in front of her as she lit up in excitement, “Gilbert?”

He smiled as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, “Professor. P-Prince Dimitri…” he dropped to one knee in a bow, “I can’t believe it, you’re alive!”

“I am not,” he informed, his arm still holding Byleth around her waist, “and I am not a prince.”

Gilbert looked up with confusion. Byleth tugged at Dimitri’s arms, but could not escape, “Let me go, Dima.”

In response, he yanked her away even farther, nearly dragging her as he stepped back from the shocked and confused soldier. “He could be working for the Empire.”

Gilbert looked offended as he stared at them, still on one knee, “Y-Your Highness! I would never do that! I’d rather die than defect from you.”

“I’ve told you,” he hissed, “there’s nothing to defect from.”

Byleth struggled in his arms, “And there’s nothing to protect me from,” she slapped at his chest, “let me go this instant!”

Gilbert pushed himself up from his spot on the ground. Soft dirt fell from his knees as he stepped forward to entreat the lost prince. Byleth continued to push at Dimitri’s arm, but the Blaiddyd strength could not be defeated. 

“Let her go, your Highness,” he put his hands up carefully, “I promise you, I’m not a threat.”

Byleth believed him. As nice a thought of Dimitri protecting her was, she didn’t _need_ it. She didn’t want him to protect her from Annette’s father, of all people. She sighed and gave up as Dimitri showed no sign of relenting. He only scowled, “Where’re the others? I know they’re here.”

The old soldier licked his lips in nervousness, “Felix and Annette are in the back, Mercedes and Sylvain are to the North. Ashe should be around here somewhere…” he glanced around as if just realizing that he had lost his ally. 

A rustling among the branches, and Ashe popped out from the leaves. He had blended so well with his dark armor. Byleth watched with swelling emotions as her archer dropped from the tree and landed on the ground. 

“You’re so tall!” She gushed from her place in Dimitri’s arms, “Ashe, my god. I’m so happy to see you!” Another push against Dimitri, yet he only stepped back once again. Ashe watched with a hesitant expression as the prince held his professor as if he was surrounded by monsters. 

Dimitri had a wild look in his eye. He looked like a starved, cornered dog. Ashe’s heart broke as he watched the couple in front of him. “I’m happy to see you too, professor,” he was hesitant as he went on, “I was just… making sure you were okay. That’s why I didn’t show myself earlier.”

Dimitri snarled, “So you were waiting to shoot?”

“No!” He put his hands up in defense, “I just don’t… know what to expect anymore, your Highness! But I would never hurt you!”

By the scowl on Dimitri’s face, he didn’t believe his former classmate. Footsteps reached their ears as Sylvain and Mercedes ran into view from around the corner. 

Mercedes gasped, a hand going to her mouth. Sylvain only stared with wide eyes. 

Byleth looked up at Dimitri. If there was any time that she had seen her love afraid of anything other than the ghosts, it would be then. Peacefully, she rested her hands on his arm. “Dima, it’s okay.”

He ignored her, “Go away. We don’t need your help.”

“Yes, we do,” his grip had loosened enough for her to shift in his arms and look at him more clearly, “Dima, I want them here. We need the help.”

“No, we don’t.”

Sylvain was stepping closer as if approaching a wounded animal. He put his hands up, trying to not make much noise, “Dimitri, we’re here to help you. We’re not going to hurt you, or…” his eyes flickered to Byleth, “take her away. I promise, we won’t.”

“I don’t need your promises.” A snarl. 

Mercedes, who was much better at healing than Byleth ever could be, took the opportunity to send a psychic spell towards the lost prince. It hit him with a warm light, and he flinched at the sudden impact. Byleth escaped from his arms in that moment as the psychic surrounded his rib cage where he was bled.

He hunched over, holding his wound and snarling, “I don’t need your healing, either!” Mercedes gasped at his yell, but he had no shame in his tone, “Monsters don’t have allies. I don’t need any of you!”

Byleth didn’t notice Felix and Annette running up to join the group. They had taken care of the last few bandits, leaving the ruin cleared out from enemies, but Byleth ignored them as she watched Dimitri whip around and escape through the heavy brush of the forest. He was gone in an instant, moving far faster than he looked to be. She could only sigh as his footsteps faded into the distance. 

A shocked silence fell. Gilbert and Ashe stared at the ground sadly, while Sylvain stepped forward to pat her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. If she had a heart it would’ve swelled. She clutched her chest as Mercedes tittered about behind her with words of compassion. Sylvain leaned in, “Where do you think he’s going?”

She sighed, “Back to the monastery, probably. He’s just… freaked out a bit.”

Felix snorted as if the entire situation amused him, earning a slap on the arm from Annette. He ignored her and just nodded, “The boar prince finally shows his true colors. Goddess, did you see the dirt in his hair?”

Byleth leveled him with a glare, “He doesn’t like taking his armor off for baths. If you were on the run for five years you wouldn’t either.”

He was unfazed, “It’s not _that_ , professor, he’s just insane!”

“Don’t say that around him!”

“He’s not a child,” with the tension growing, Felix gestured to where Dimitri had just been standing, “call it what it is! I’ve only seen him for a few minutes so far and I already know what’s happened.”

She huffed, “And what is that?” 

“This is who he truly is!” He informed, now yelling, “I’ve been trying to warn you all for years! That dirty, blood covered boar is who Dimitri has always been.”

That was enough. That was absolutely enough. The party had descended in chaos as Annette lectured Felix on manners, and Mercedes shook her head. Ingrid had finally joined from her vantage point in the sky to watch the argument with a confused, angry expression. She tried to defend the prince, but Felix would have none of it. 

Gilbert and Sylvain were trying to convince both parties to calm down. Yet, Byleth would not calm down. She refused to. 

She huffed, and she scowled, and she glared. Felix looked at her tauntingly. She loved the Fraldarius boy like a brother, she truly did, but he could get on her nerves just as easily as one. 

“I married that dirty, blood covered boar. And he won’t be that way forever,” it was hard to say, almost as if she was lying to herself, “He’ll get through this. I just need you all to believe me, and believe in _him_.”

The chaos switched off like a flame going out. All eyes stared, lingering with differing shades of surprise. Byleth returned each one with a dedicated glare. She had her class back, and they couldn't even have a happy reunion.

Could nothing be happy for her now? It had been five years, and her students were adults now. They were older than her, and had all grown up so well. How she longed to gather each up into her arms and squeeze the life from them - but as the events turned, it seemed that she could not even have that. All she had these days were arguments and chaos, and every bit of it involved Dimitri. 

“You…” Ingrid squinted, speaking slowly, “ _married_ him?”

It was as incredulous as Ingrid made it sound. Without a verbal answer to give, Byleth held up her hand. The green jeweled ring caught the afternoon sun with a glimmer. Annette’s mouth gaped open as she stared in absolute shock. A wave of gasps rippled through her students. 

“Holy crap,” she gasped, “I won the bet! Crap! Sylvain, you owe me a hundred gold!”

He cursed under his breath. The responses were all different shades of surprise and shock, with Mercedes faking a smile for Byleth’s sake. Felix gave the biggest eyeroll he could, and Gilbert only shook his head as if Byleth was a stupid child. 

She lowered her hand and twisted her ring around. “Listen, please just be patient. I know I can’t change him, or cure him…” they listened attentively, “but I can support him. And I’d really like it if you all could do the same.”

Ashe, ever the sweet one, nodded with a determined set of his lips, “I’ll try my best, professor.”

She couldn’t help but smile, “I’m not your professor anymore.”

“We’ll do our best!” Annette gripped her fists tightly, “We’ll clean up the monastery and kick the empire’s butt!”

“Hey,” Sylvain shrugged good-naturedly, “I’m up for that.”

****

* * *

Byleth found Dimitri in the chapel once more. He stiffened upon hearing her approaching footsteps. She watched his shoulders set in place as she came up behind him and stood, watching him watch the rubble. 

Silence fell. Outside of the chapel, Mercedes’s sweet voice rang through the air as she swept the bridge off from the ash of a battle five years prior.

Byleth cleared her throat, “We’re cleaning up.”

He grunted. 

“And the Knights of Seiros will be here soon.”

Another disinterested grunt. 

“You’ll have an army to help you get to Edelgard.”

“...I don’t need an army.”

“No,” she would allow him this one thing, “you can defeat Edelgard on your own, of course. But it’ll help to have an army to get you there in the first place.”

He shuffled in place and kept his gaze ahead of him, “Fine. Just keep them out of my way.”

“What…” she searched her mind for the right words that wouldn’t set him off, “what happened back there? When you held me like that?”

He had not looked at her since she entered. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder. All she could see was the outline of his nose, and the darkness of his eyepatch through his tangled blond hair. Even then, when covered in dried blood and dirt, he was beautiful. 

“You’re the progenitor Goddess, Byleth.”

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes and quip something sarcastic. Dimitri was the only one besides Rhea and Seteth that knew, it was something she had told him personally. He was the one that read through Jeralt’s diary with her when it got too hard. 

Yet, to hear it come from his lips in this moment. To hear him say it so casually, as if it wasn't the biggest reveal in her life. As if that reminder didn't bother her each and every day. As if she wasn't a total inhuman monster that cut through dimensions with her sword and healed at a rate faster than anybody she knew.

It almost felt like a betrayal. It was her secret, and she was surprised to hear it being treated like the complete opposite. He stated it as if saying 'your eyes are green' - completely obvious.

_Byleth felt empty as she held the book in her hands. Her father's handwriting screamed at her from the page, the reminder too harsh for her to stare at any longer. She shut the diary with a snap and handed it to Dimitri._

_He took it with gentleness and opened it once more, "Would you like me to summarize?"_

_A nod. Her knee bounced endlessly._

_His arm around her was a comfort as he read down the page. His brows furrowed, and he bit his lip as he stared at a line. Reading it over, and over, and over, he could not find his words. How could he possibly tell her what he just saw?_

_Byleth's knee bounced harder. She said nothing, but Dimitri knew his love well enough to know that she wanted what the diary said. Clearing his throat, he began, "Your father thinks you have no heartbeat."_

_"Well," her voice was clenched, "Do I?"_

_"I've... never checked."_

_Wordlessly, she offered her wrist. He took it and pushed down onto her skin, "I feel nothing."_

_"Okay."_

_Okay was all she ever said to anything anymore. Dimitri had remembered losing his own father, how 'okay' was the easiest to go to when faced with life itself. He slid his fingers away from her wrist and down into her palm, eventually tangling them between hers. They were in the privacy of Jeralt's office, and the door had been locked so nobody could walk in on them._

_How he wished to tell her. How he wished to say 'I love you' - but that wouldn't fix anything. His love couldn't bring Jeralt back. The best he could do was support her, and keep reading. He looked at the rest of the page, "Your father seemed to think that they experimented on you."_

_"I..." she pursed her lips, "yes, I think so too. Rhea's told me... things."_

_"Oh?" He wouldn't pry._

_Byleth offered herself up so willingly, "I admitted to her once about... Sothis," she glanced at him to check if he recalled her story about hearing a young girl in her mind, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Going on, she sighed, "She thinks I'm connected to her, in some way. Like some... I don't know, progeny."_

_"Do you hear Sothis right now?"_

_She nodded. Dimitri rested his head on hers and flipped another page in the diary, "Well, we should talk to Rhea about this. I can accompany you, if you like."_

_She settled back into his chest and gave a peaceful sigh, "I will, one day. Only if you're there to give me the strength."_

It was a private moment, now laid bare between them in the empty chapel, five years later. 

Trying to be patient, she spoke slowly so as to not let her sarcasm loose, “Your point?”

“You wield that sword,” he turned once more to look at the sword attached to her hip, “you hold great power.”

“And?”

“You can turn back time.”

Another secret only he knew. He was checking all of the 'betray everything your lover told you in confidence' box tonight. She sighed, “So?”

“If you die, or are taken away from me…” he frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, “Then I lose one of my most powerful tools.”

Of course. _Of_ _course_ he would say that. Byleth didn’t know what else she expected. What else _could_ she expect from this man?

Fire burned in her chest. She frowned, and crossed her arms to mirror his stance as she stared at him in fury. Now, the ring that sat so beautifully on her finger, felt like it burned a hole in her skin. “Is that all that I am to you? A tool? You were afraid of your friends taking me away?” She hissed, stepping closer, “I think that you’re just afraid to be alone.”

“Hold your tongue,” he snapped, “What I told you is the truth. You’re just a tool to me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Argue with me all you wish, you know the truth.”

It was almost expected, this conversation. Byleth still felt the world slowing around her as she stared at her husband. “You’re so soft sometimes, you _have_ to feel something for me.”

“Of course,” he scowled, “I can’t have my tool getting hurt before she’s even used.”

“I cannot believe you.” 

The sound of Byleth turning around and walking down the aisle, out of the chapel, left Dimitri behind in silence. She hurried out of the doors as he watched her retreating back. 

Lambert nodded in approval. Glenn laughed. Patricia congratulated him.

Dimitri ignored them all and turned back to the rubble of what used to be the altar. It was the perfect place to pray, to let one’s mind focus on what was truly important. 

He clasped his hands together. It was not the Goddess that he would be praying to, but rather the dead. They deserved his prayers far more than Sothis. 

* * *

Byleth sat in her empty room on the floor. 

Some asshole had stolen all of her furniture, of course. She scowled at the bare walls and the corner where her desk used to be. Even her bed frame was gone, and she had nowhere to lay besides the middle of her tiny dorm. 

How desperately she wished to just lay in bed and cry like a little girl. How desperately she wished that crying would come easily to her. Even with her emotions having heightened since Sothis’s fusion, crying was not natural. 

Yet, anger and frustration _was_. Groaning, she laid back onto the hard ground and stared at her ceiling. 

“I hate him,” her wedding ring sat on her finger as a reminder of her hate, “why did I do this to myself?”

“What happened to believing in him?”

Byleth was up in an instant. Felix stood in her doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms as he watched her talk to her ceiling. He raised an unamused brow as she squinted upon seeing him. 

“Am I interrupting your conversation with the walls, professor?”

“I’m not your professor anymore.”

“Oh, so the second it’s not improper you just go off and marry one of your students.”

He had called her out so easily, as he always had. Again, the feeling of frustration towards a little brother returned - though he was older than her now. He was taller as well, his slim cheekbones having refined into a handsome face. She only cocked her head as she stared at him, “How’re you and Annette?”

Felix, as always, was unfazed. “Fine. How’re you and the boar?”

“Terrible.”

“He’s always been head over heels for you,” he snorted as if the very thought was dumb, “he still is.”

“Excuse me, are you trying to comfort me?”

“No,” a shake of his head, “I’m just wondering what happened to your crap about believing in him.”

Again, he had called her out. She only said one thing in the heat of her emotions, yet Felix had caught her and would make her own up to her own words. She sighed and tapped her fingers on the empty floor anxiously. “I never said believing in him would be easy.”

“You can believe in him from afar, you know.”

Anxious to fidget with something, Byleth pushed her hair behind her ears and sighed, “I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Felix watched her. His expression was unreadable, but Byleth took no notice as she stared at the ground. Her thoughts consumed her. How could she support him but not put her own emotional energy at risk? 

It was so much work. It was so tiring just to be around Dimitri sometimes. She felt herself draining day by day, despite his random acts of softness, despite his protectiveness. Despite her hope in him, she was only human when it came to her mental capacities, and she only had so much of herself to give. 

Felix stepped forward. He squatted down in front of his old professor, earning her attention as he leaned forward to graze his fingers against her ear. 

She froze. If Annette saw this, she would have a heart attack, “W-What are you doing?”

He pinched the tip of her ear harshly. She flinched and yanked back. He only stared at her with wide eyes, “Your ears.”

“What about them?” She rubbed the tip, “Jeez, that hurt.”

“They’re pointed.”

She froze. Her eyes widened.

Curious, she trailed her finger tips up to the very tip of her ear. It poked softly into her finger, pointy. 

She couldn’t believe it. Her ears were pointed. Just like the pointed tips she had seen sticking out of Rhea’s hair five years earlier. “What does this mean?” She asked Felix in a whisper. He could only offer a shrug as he watched the tip of her ears like a circus act. 

“No idea.”

She and Felix both stood immediately. With panic setting in, her hands rested flat against the sides of her head as she stared at the swordsman with wide eyes, “I need to go see Mercedes!”

Felix, too, had been affected by his ex-professor's panic. He escorted her to Mercedes room, where Mercedes, too, quickly became panicked, and immediately deemed Byleth's sudden pointy ears as ‘incurable’.

“You know,” Mercedes voice was light, the high pitched tone she used when breaking bad news, “Seteth is going to be here tomorrow, maybe ask him?”

Perhaps if Rhea had pointed ears then Seteth did too. Byleth sat on Mercedes's bed and nodded in frantic agreement. Felix stood at the back of the room with crossed arms, though the worry in his eyes was obvious as he watched the girls. 

“Yes,” she inhaled, then exhaled heavily, “perhaps I’m not dying?”

“I can’t guarantee that…”

“Oh god,” Byleth clutched her ears again, all thoughts of Dimitri gone, “I’m dying!”

"No," Mercedes rubbed calming circles into Byleth's shoulders, "Let's just look at all the other weird stuff, okay? We saw you cut a hole through the sky and come out with different colored hair one time."

Byleth nodded, though her knee bounced in nervousness. Felix perked up to offer his own contribution, "You married the boar. That's weird."

"Oh, goddess," she buried her face into her hands, "if I die then Dimitri is going to get married to someone else!"

Mercedes hummed, "Not if you haunt him forever and scare away any girlfriends."

Byleth only shook her head and fidgeted with the pointed tips. They were sore with the amount of prodding she and Mercedes had both done, but she ignored the soreness as she continued to rub and stroke the skin. "Perhaps I'm turning into a demonic beast, but very slowly?"

"Well... that was my first thought, actually."

Byleth buried her face into her hands again. Felix only narrowed his eyes, and a look of worry passed between him and Mercedes. The ex-professor groaned, "I think I need to be alone," she sighed and stood up, pushing the hair back into her face to cover the tips as best she could, "I have a few other theories to think over."

She left Mercedes's room quietly. Felix followed her out, though quickly disbanded to go look for Sylvain. She walked back to her dorm, lost in thought. 

Aside from the incredibly chaotic assumptions such as transformations or absolute death, Byleth had another theory. Perhaps it was what Dimitri was talking about earlier, about being the progenitor God. She had never bought into such things, not feeling God-like at all, but Rhea had told her as much. She had assured, over and over, that Byleth was special. 

Perhaps this was yet another special thing about her.

She found herself making her way towards the chapel, yet stopped herself as she neared the bridge. She couldn't see Dimitri, not right now. Her anger was far too large, and her emotional capacity far too small. There was no way she could find comfort in the coldness of his ghosts. 

She turned around and made her way back to her room, where she would sleep on the floor. Perhaps it would be best to just take care of her problems, to do as Dimitri wished and to be the powerful tool he wanted her to be. Oddly enough, that would be far less tiring than listening to him. 


	6. The Break of Byleth Blaiddyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time writing this chapter, it was sitting in my docs for a while unfinished. I was contemplating on the part where Dimitri tortures Randolph, because I really did not want to write that. In my opinion, everybody's read/played that part a million times, you don't need me to reiterate that scene. Idk, I just don't like writing things that happen already in the game, I get bored.  
> Sooo, here's a silly, sad chapter about Byleth coming to terms instead! I hope you like it <3

_To run away is easy_

_It's the leaving that's hard_

_Running away is easy_

_It's the living that's hard_

_And loving you was easy_

_It was you leaving that scarred_

_\- 'Time Moves Slow', badbadnotgood_

It was almost peaceful in Seteth’s office. It was almost quiet, almost calm, and almost safe.

Yet, he supposed that every dam must break open eventually.

“I suppose it’s time we tell you the truth, Byleth.”

It was, and she waited for the truth with the patience of a saint. Running the brush through Flayn’s hair that matched her own so perfectly, feeling the soft locks under her fingers as she loosened the tangles, Byleth kept silent as Seteth gathered his thoughts. Flayn kicked her feet happily, unaware of the nervousness churning in her friend’s stomach. 

Seteth watched from behind his desk. His hands were folded in front of him as Byleth brushed through his daughter’s hair. He had only learned of the truth five years prior. It had been the day before Edelgard’s army attacked the monastery when Rhea finally told him everything - and it had taken months of processing. With Rhea gone, he couldn’t be of much help to Byleth, but he could at least tell her what he knew. 

“There’s really no other way to say this,” he drummed his fingers on the desk, “and I wasn’t aware of this when we first met, you know.”

Flayn fidgeted under Byleth’s hands, pouting to herself, “I’m not even aware of it _now_! Nobody ever tells me anything.”

“Me neither,” she smiled down at the girl, “not even my own father.”

She pouted. Seteth watched with an expression of warning directed to his younger sister before sighing in defeat, “We have reason to believe that... um, you have Nabatean blood. Rhea only mentioned it briefly, but you… may have the heart of, uh…”

Byleth sent him a stony glare, “Of Sothis?”

“...Yes.”

“I see,” she hummed in an attempt to look nonchalant. Returning to brushing Flayn’s hair in silence, she ignored Seteth watching her warily. 

The sound of birds chirping outside of his office proved to be a stark contrast to the heavy feeling in the air. Despite the celebration for the Knights of Seiros returning to the monastery, their return was also a reminder of what was coming. 

A war five years in the making. 

Byleth’s mind dwelt on other subjects. She missed Sothis. She missed her father. She missed her life before all of this nonsense. 

Seteth ran a hand through his hair, frowning, “I’m not sure if whatever’s happened is turning you into one of us, or if you’re just resembling us.” He pushed his hair back to reveal his own pointed ears, while Flayn did the same in front of Byleth. She paused in her brushing to inspect the pointed tips of her young friend. 

Breathless, she stared, “I’ve never noticed.”

“Well, we keep them hidden,” Flayn explained, “you don’t see that everyday, right?”

No, she didn’t. Byleth had never seen anything like them, and now she had a pair of her own. Looking at Seteth with wide eyes, she tried to catch her breath before speaking, “W-What exactly is a Nabatean?”

He shifted uncomfortably, “Children of the Goddess, we’re called. Y-You must know that this is all to be kept between us!"

“Of course!”

He went on hesitantly, “Without getting into the… er, details, basically we are just part of a very old civilization established by Sothis. We were wiped out completely besides a surviving few. We have… _other_ forms, I suppose you could sa-”

“Is that why Rhea turned into a dragon?”

“You saw that?”

Byleth rolled her eyes, “Who _didn’t_ see that?”

“Ah,” he looked annoyed, but went on nonetheless, “Yes, that’s her other form.”

“Could you…” she twiddled her fingers, looking down, “um, turn into a dragon for me?”

Flayn burst into raucous laughter. Seteth’s eyes widened and his hands tightened on the edge of his desk. He nearly stood up to yell at Byleth in response, yet held himself back, glaring incredulously, “No. I will not.”

“Well darn,” she huffed, “Can _I_ turn into one?”

“I don’t think so,” he leaned back into his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know if you’re the exact same as us. If you truly do have the crest stone inside of you - and I think you do - then you probably are quite similar to us in our… traits.”

“What traits?”

Flayn twirled her hair. Green, just like Byleth’s. She remembered Petra’s comment so long ago, about how her people used to worship green haired, green eyed deities that could fly. Yet, just hair, eyes, and ears weren’t enough of an answer for her. 

Seteth answered in more detail, “A restorative slumber, for one.”

Check. She nodded. 

“Healing.”

Another check. 

“A longer lifespan with very little aging.”

Not checked. Byleth frowned, “I guess we’ll just have to wait for time to answer that one.”

“Your father experienced that. Rhea told me of how she gave him blood.”

Byleth recalled reading about that day in his diary. He had been so disgusted in his overly long life, how he should’ve been dust and bones by then, but continued to live so unnaturally. 

“So I might have to leave everybody I love behind one day?” She mused to herself. Seteth and Flayn both avoided her eyes. Their lack of acknowledgement was answer enough. 

Shaken, Byleth’s knee bounced as she went on, “I’m not a Nabatean, though, right? I just have a crest stone and Nabatean blood.”

He sighed, “We’ll just have to wait and see, Byleth. I’m sorry.”

Dimitri always spoke of not being human any longer. Little did he know, it was _she_ who had no humanity. 

She returned Flayn’s brush and stood from her seat. Bowing her head politely to Seteth, she stepped towards the door, “I need to think for a bit. Thank you.”

Seteth knew that there was nothing that could be said. He had lived this way for his entire existence, to have been human at one point was a pain he had never experienced. He allowed her to leave without another word. 

She shut the door and leaned against the wall beside his office. It was so near Jeralt’s old room, the door staring at her across the hallway. It’s memories had been locked away long ago, Byleth knew because she was the carrier of the only key. She would not be unlocking them now, of all times. 

Ignoring the other dusty, raided offices, she made her way down the stairs and into the main room of the chapel. Knights milled about, but all avoided the steaming woman as she hurried by.

Dimitri, of all people, would be the worst at comforting her, yet he was the only one she wished to be near at that moment. Her anger had dissolved into fear, such a foreign feeling for her. When growing up, fear was never an issue, and she supposed that living without it had made experiencing it newly as an adult all the more difficult. All she wished for in that moment was to tell her husband what she had learned. 

The priests - they had arrived with the Knights earlier that morning - made a wide circle around the prince of Faerghus. Several sent him odd looks, but Byleth ignored every pair of nervous, darting eyes as she walked up the aisle, finally arriving behind him. 

He muttered inaudibly to himself. Her knee bounced as she watched, waiting for a lull in his murmuring to announce her presence. His cloak still had dried blood on the corners, and he looked even skinnier than before. 

Her opportunity to speak came with a violent shake of his head. The slump in his shoulders told Byleth just how bad of a day he was having. He was so much worse than she’d seen him in their travels together. An invisible world of torment weighed him down, a world she was no part of. 

“Dima,” her voice echoed through the chapel, much too loud in the usually quiet room, “I have a question.”

A violent exhale of breath, as if he was annoyed at being spoken to. Byleth shrugged to herself and went on, “Have you noticed something… different about me?”

Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder. His face was half buried in the black and white fur of his animal skins, but his good eye narrowed dangerously. “Yes, I have.”

She pushed her hair back anxiously, “Seteth says that I might be similar to him and Rhea. A Nabatean, he called it.”

He grunted, “So?”

Byleth forced a smile, “I might turn into a dragon one day.”

“Good. Better to defeat Edelgard with.”

Byleth wasn’t sure what else she expected. He had made it clear yesterday that she was just his tool, and she was simply too stubborn to believe him. She didn’t dare to show her irritation at his response, only grimacing as she went on, “I also might live for a very long time.”

“That sounds terrible.”

Byleth couldn’t help but find his quip amusing. She smiled, eyes shining at the small attempt at humor. Dimitri scowled at the sight of it and turned his head once more.

“You’re right,” she watched him curiously, “that _does_ sound terrible. I don’t want to outlive you.”

He stiffened. Behind Byleth, a priest hurried past with a broom and dustpan. They were all milling about with hurried, panicked expressions, trying to clean up their holy room as best they could. Byleth ignored the other people as she watched the squaring of Dimitri’s shoulders with worry. 

“Go away,” he spat venomously, “You’ve had your fun. Now, it is time for war, and I cannot be distracted by your games any longer.”

His mood had flipped on a dime. Byleth should’ve been hurt by his words, but all she managed was an eye roll. “I’m not going away. I fully intend to stay by your side.”

“Go. You’re talking to a monster, not the man you knew.”

“I married you as you are, Dima,” she informed smartly, “I didn’t marry you with the expectation that you’d be your old self. I married you with the willingness to love each and every part of you.”

“Well,” another glare cutting over his shoulder, “you are a fool, then.”

“You say you’re a monster, but _I’m_ the one who’s not human here.”

“The blood on your hands stains just as brightly as mine, Byleth.”

It was the only way to hurt her, to dangle any sort of hope in front of her, then rip it away. He had said her name, how desperately she wished for him to acknowledge her as Byleth, as his wife, as the woman who’s given so much of herself to him. Yet, it was only to insult her. She could have nothing nice, and the universe made sure of it

Before she could gather her thoughts to retort, Dimitri turned away to face the rubble. His arms folded against his chest, shutting out the world. “Go away,” his voice shook with an emotion she couldn’t identify, something desperate and feral, “Just go.”

If the universe would not let Byleth have nice things, she would retort in turn. She would show the universe just how _little_ she cared, bandaging her wounds with a thick layer of sarcasm. “You sound pitiful, I’ll go only because you’re begging.”

“Go!”  
  


Several priests cleaning up the corners looked up in surprise at the sudden shout. Byleth’s stomach wrenched in anxiety as she watched the tension in his shoulders grow. His arms loosened and gripped into fists at his sides. 

It was sudden, and quicker than she could ever anticipate. Dimitri reared his arm back and punched a sudden hole into the collapsed altar. Loose stones fell around him and clattered at his feet. Her stomach churned while she watched the rubble closely, afraid the impact would cause an avalanche. 

Fear, anger, resentment. They mixed in her stomach like a sickening cocktail, heating her up from her fingers to her toes. Disgust screamed from every pore as she watched him pull his hand back, and growl once more, “ _Go_.”

It was all he seemed to be able to say. Byleth felt as if she was breathing fire, “You need to control yourself, Dimitri. I will _not_ stand for you acting like that.”

“Like what?” He barked a laugh and turned around, spreading his arms out and looking at her with wide eyes, “A monster? An animal? I’ve been trying to tell you, but you never listen!”

Frustrated, she scowled, “You’re so goddamn dramatic. I can’t deal with you right now.”

“I didn’t _ask_ you to deal with me.”

Dimitri watched as she furiously turned on her heel to leave. The curious eyes of the priests lingered on them both, and he felt the stress leave his body as Byleth left his presence. Turning back to face the rubble, he crossed his arms and eyed the hole he had made.

Byleth chose to ignore the eyes of the onlookers, knowing that they wouldn’t understand. They would only judge. 

But did _Byleth_ even understand? She could _say_ it was love. She could convince herself that she was sacrificing her emotional state for the sake of _love_ \- she could tell herself that as much as she wanted. 

Halfway down the aisle, she stopped in her tracks, thinking. 

Dimitri kept his back to her. He had crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at the debris, lips moving in silent prayers to the dead. Byleth turned around to watch him across the room. 

“Sometimes,” her voice sounded too loud for the chapel, “it’s really hard to love you,” she tried her best to keep her voice from cracking, “I have feelings too, and I only have so much energy to give you.”

She did not expect Dimitri to respond, yet he proved surprising at every turn. Without looking at her, he spoke over his shoulder, “I’ve never asked for your energy. And I’ve never cared about your feelings, either. If I’m tiring to you, that’s your own fault.”

It was the longest, most logical response she’d gotten from him in a very, very long time. 

Byleth watched his back in shock. He had said it so eloquently, so reasonably, he almost sounded _normal_ \- and he was right once more. He had _not_ asked. He didn’t care, and he made it clear.

Was it a crime to care for someone? Was it on purpose that she cared so deeply for Dimitri? Could she help herself?

The invisible rope that connected her heart to his had been fraying from pressure for so long. She had tugged and pulled, yet nobody could defeat a Blaiddyd in a game of strength. Finally, it had snapped, and fallen to the floor between them in a limp pile. She knew that this was the end in their game of tug of war. 

It was finally over. 

A taste of freedom lingered on her tongue. She savored the idea of it for only a sweet second, until the overwhelming sadness washed over her body like sand and salt water. 

“You’re right,” she answered quietly, nearly choking on the rock in her throat, “You never asked for this.”

The priests had frozen. They were watching as an audience watched a dramatic theater play. She sent them a glare across the room, and they immediately scrambled to continue their cleaning. The melancholy was settling into her heart as she turned back to Dimitri, “I’ve got my own things to worry about. I can’t keep up this one sided relationship.” A sigh as she turned towards the entrance to take her leave.

“Find me when you decide to care about my feelings as well.”

* * *

Byleth was not what could be considered a hopeless romantic. She didn’t spend time thinking about her wedding, what flowers she wanted from a man, or what kind of future she’d have with said man. Those types of things didn’t matter in the grand scheme of life, and especially not in battle. 

Yet, she knew of love. Her father’s love that she could see in his eyes when he spoke of Sitri. She had the general idea that if she ever _did_ marry, she would be desperately, hopelessly, in love.

And she _was_ desperately, hopelessly in love. Such things were not changed so easily. 

Yet, those who were desperately in love did not separate from each other. They stayed together. And while Byleth was just barely beginning to grasp the importance of family in her life, she knew enough to know that ‘breaking up’ was not what people who were in love did. 

But here she and Dimitri were. 

Despite the cocktail of emotion that stirred in her stomach, the ring stayed on her finger. She did, briefly, consider throwing it into a river like Dimitri had urged her to do before. But the thought of it lying on the bottom of a river bed only proved to nauseate her further. 

The damn thing would make her some good money if she pawned it, so why would she waste it on the river?

Byleth mused on this as she inspected the green jewel. Annette and Mercedes watched her with wide, fearful eyes as she spoke of the good amount she could get from the ring. “I think I could feed us for a month with this thing. What do you think?”

“I think…” Annette’s mouth gaped in horror, “I think you’re insane!”  
  


“That’s not very nice.”

Mercedes put up a soft hand, “Now, Annie, she’s not insane. She’s just feeling a lot right now.”

“I feel nothing. I have no heart.”

“Professor,” Mercedes gave her a warning look, “don’t say things like that. You’re just feeling overwhelmed.”

“I’m not, I promise you.” Another swig of whiskey that burned her throat so sweetly. The dizziness it provided was a needed release from the _disgusting_ human emotions she had caught. 

Gently, Annette took the bottle from her hands and set it on her bedside table. She sighed as Byleth reached for it once more. “Professor, you shouldn’t drink your feelings away.”

“I’m not your professor anymore.”

Mercedes, now, took the whiskey from Byleth’s reach, “You’re being impulsive, professor. Don’t do anything rash.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes like a petulant child, her breath hot from the liquor, “No, the impulsive choice would be to throw the ring into the river. I’m doing the calculated and logical choice of pawning it off for money.”

“Getting rid of it in the first place is impulsive!” Annette screeched, grabbing Byleth’s hand and twisting the ring so the gem faced up, “You don’t know how Dimitri’s gonna be in a year. Where’d all your hope go?”  
  


The room swam around her.. She scowled and ripped her hand away, “He hurt my feelings!”

“That doesn’t mean you should get a _divorce_!”

“Yes it does!”

“As your friend, I will glue that ring onto your finger, Byleth Blaiddyd. You are _not_ taking that off.”

She clutched her hand close to her chest and turned away. Mercedes’s mattress squeaked under her as she writhed to get away from Annette’s wild grabbing, “What do you care, Annie? It doesn’t matter to you!”

“You’re my friend,” she slowed in her grabbing, pulling away with soft eyes and a comforting hand on her shoulder, “and I know you love him. I _know_ you want to see him better.”

“As correct as you are,” she sighed in defeat, “I can’t force him to accept my help.”

Mercedes twisted the whiskey bottle in her hands absently. She looked at the golden liquid with interest. Byleth had drank so much of it, and neither of them had ever seen their professor so upset about something - especially not a man, they never would’ve guessed. “You can be patient until he _does_ accept you.”

Her tongue slurred, “He _never_ will!”

“Shush. You’re tipsy.”

“I’m not!”

If there was one thing that historically cheered Annette and Mercedes up, it was a girls night. While the stores and inns surrounding the monastery had been abandoned for years, _anything_ could be a girls night if the feelings were right. The women shared a look, then Annette nodded with determination, “I think we should have a girl’s night.”

Byleth was unfazed, “I want a ‘pawn off my ring for money’ night!”

“That kind of night doesn’t exist,” Annette defended with a nervous chuckle, “Why don’t we just have a _normal_ girls night? We can go get Flayn and Ingrid and do whatever you wanna do!”

A calm pause, “...Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want!”

Byleth watched both girls nod with reassuring smiles. Annette and Mercedes had always been so kind, so welcoming. Even when Byleth was their professor they still treated her like a friend. Their company was invaluable. She truly loved these girls - they were her family. 

Nonetheless, she would still take the opportunity to mess with them a bit. 

“I want to go bullfighting.”

* * *

It was an absolutely _terrible_ thing to lie to Seteth, yet he would’ve never allowed Flayn to go _bullfighting_. For all he knew, his younger sister and the girls were just having a nice camping night outside of the monastery. 

In reality, they were bullfighting. Badly. 

And not even with bulls. Just very aggravated cows that a merchant had brought along to provide milk. He had to poke the cow until it became irritated and charged. While it wasn’t much of a challenge, it was the closest they had to fulfilling Byleth’s wish, and she would take what she could get. 

Besides wish fulfillment for the purpose of her own entertainment, it somewhat cheered Byleth up to see Annette scream and run from a frustrated cow. Oddly enough, Annette managed to eventually calm the cow down, start petting it, and make a friend. Her attempt to mess with them had proved to be entirely wholesome comedy that Byleth truly needed in that moment. 

She leaned against the fence and watched Annette coo and rub behind the cow’s ears. Flayn leaned beside her with a big smile. Mercedes and Ingrid had left minutes ago to get food for their picnic. 

Despite the peace settling between the friends, Flayn could still sense the depression lurking underneath Byleth’s easy-going smile. She tapped her fingers against the fence and laughed at Annette, who had gotten viciously licked by the cow’s tongue. Flayn only watched with concern. 

“Is everything okay with you and Dimitri?”

Byleth’s smile fell. She glanced at the ring on her finger with contempt, “Yes, he’s just… having a hard time right now.”

“You could say that,” she smiled knowingly, “are... you having a hard time too?”

A sigh, “I think everybody is right now.”

“Yes, but… learning what Rhea did to you, and all,” she bit her lip in thought, “learning about the blood that flows through your veins, about your heart. It’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”

Annette cried as she was licked again. Byleth sent her friend a quick, humorless smile, before running her fingers through her hair just to have something to fidget with. Flayn, of all people, would’ve understood the situation the most. 

“I just feel like I’m transforming,” she looked at her hand, wondering if it would ever have the opportunity to wrinkle, “my hair is different, my ears, even the way my body feels. I know everybody’s different now,” especially Dimitri, “but it’s just hard to get used to.”

“And Dimitri isn’t willing to support you?”

“He’s too caught up in himself,” she snorted, “there’s so much narcissism in madness. He can’t help it, but I just… don’t think it’s healthy for me to give all of myself to him right now.”

“You’re right, it’s not… Are you two getting a divorce?”

Byleth had sobered up significantly, and Annette’s words from earlier rang in her ears. She couldn’t divorce him simply because he hurt her feelings, and it was her self inflicted goal to stay by Dimitri even in the darkest of times. She shook her head, “No.”

Flayn’s eyes were wide like a child’s, “Oh thank the goddess, that would be like my parents divorcing!”

“...Your parents?”

She nodded, “Yes. You guys were like the mom and dad of the Blue Lions.” Flayn had been a student of her class at one time, she had fond memories of seeing Dimitri and Byleth together, “How you and him would lecture Sylvain together, how you’d both write the syllabus together. And remember that time I got an F on the history of war? You and his highness had both tried so hard to encourage me!”

She had a point. Dimitri had been at her side through it all, even teaching her how to teach and guiding her through the school year. She wouldn’t have adjusted so easily if not for his hospitality - and eventually his loving support. 

Yet, Byleth paused in thought. She blinked, “You’re over 1,000 years old, yet you fail history?”

She giggled, “I just forgot.”

From beyond the fence, Annette’s sudden call for attention drew Byleth’s eyes to her. She was sitting beside the cow, waving a pale arm in the air and grinning. “I was just wondering, By, do you think I could take a cow into battle?”

Flayn lit up, “Like an attack cow?”

“Yes!”

Byleth stared, “You mean a bull?”

A pause. 

“Um, no. An attack cow.”

“That’s a bull.”

“Listen,” she huffed, “I just really think if I take a cow into battle we’ll have the upper hand, you know?”

As if she’d been waiting for this moment, Flayn exploded with a barrage of details that exponated Annette’s theory. She was leaning over the fence in excitement, eyes wide. Apparently, attack cows had been a theory of hers before.

Byleth watched as the girls discussed the plan. A talk of battle and war raised so casually, so amusingly, when the reality was so close ahead. 

Byleth couldn’t help but smile through her lingering sadness. Just for a moment, life seemed normal again. 

* * *

Edelgard’s army approached like incoming storm clouds. The boots of the soldiers pounded across the ground like thunder, and the roar of their battle cries were the lightning. 

Byleth watched from the battlement. Below her, the Knights of Seiros scrambled to take their positions. It would only be a minute or so more until Edelgard’s army reached, and the battle finally began. Behind her, the monastery was alight with blue banners flying and commanding shouts. 

Byleth tied her hair behind her shoulders. She had discarded her casual clothes for her leather armor, and the sword of the creator hummed at her hip with energy. The wind blew cold, and the sky grew gray as if to threaten rain. What a perfect setting, she thought, the picturesque weather for such a terrible day. 

Footsteps stomping up the stairs reached her ears. She turned to see the door to the battlement opening, revealing a frazzled and excited Dimitri. His lance rested in his left hand like an extension of his arm. His eye was wide as he looked at Byleth, “They’re here.”

Whether he had been looking for her or not, she forced herself to not care. She couldn’t let her optimism get the better of her emotions, especially in that moment. Frowning, she quipped, “I didn’t notice. I thought that the army down there were just carpet salesmen. I was getting my wallet ready.”

His talent for ignoring her proved useful once more as he approached the edge of the battlement to stand beside her. His hands squeezed the stone, making cracks in the shape of his fingers as he leaned over the ledge. “Finally, I can do what I came here for.”

It was the first time Byleth had spoken to Dimitri since yesterday afternoon, yet he deigned to acknowledge their conversation. Her stomach fell at the realization that he _still_ didn’t care - the chance to fight Edelgard’s lackeys was approaching, and that was where his mind lay. 

She shrugged and sighed. Dimitri was going to do what he was going to do, and she couldn’t stop him. “Remember to let Mercedes heal you every once in a while.”

He sneered, “It would be a waste.”

“Not in my opinion.”

With a disinterested humph, he pulled away from the ledge. The breeze blew his hair back away from his face as he went towards the door leading to the stairs, “I’ll be below, waiting.”

Waiting for his chance at redemption, at revenge. A smile twisted onto his lips that made Byleth nauseous. He was far too eager for battle. 

She sighed and followed, ever his shadow - even when he didn’t care to notice her. 

“I’ll watch your back,” she informed as they made their way to meet the army, “but I will not give my life for you today, Dimitri.”

“I give my life for the dead every day,” he sneered, “I give every inch of myself to them.”

He would for them, but not for her. It was clear to her, he could not focus on anything besides his vengeance. She wondered if he _ever_ could, if it was possible for his mind to be anywhere else. 

If there ever came a day that he was healthy, perhaps then she could give herself once more. If only he would allow her. 


	7. The Mood Swings of Dimitri A. Blaiddyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually re uploaded this a second time! I went to bed, and realized that I wanted to add just a tiny bit more at the end.  
> Enjoy!

_Not much is hidden underneath a rocky heart for breaking teeth,_

_and apple core's cyanide seeds_

_It's been a long season through_

_all this rotting fruit with you_

_\- 'Peach Pit', Peach Pit_

There wasn’t much about life that Byleth could claim expertise about. She knew the sword, she knew the scent of battle, and she knew what a good chicken drumstick tasted like. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, she knew the inner workings of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

And she knew that he was so much worse than before. 

Having been raised as a mercenary, taking care of someone with survivor’s guilt and post traumatic stress was not particularly a situation she was experienced in. Usually, if anyone in the mercenary band had any problems, they drank them away. Byleth included. What a shame, she thought, that Dimitri couldn’t just drink his away as well, like a _normal_ _person_. Of course he had to be dramatic, of course he had to never shower and never eat. _Of_ _course_ he had to make it difficult. 

A month had passed since they spoke. She had doubted herself at first, wondering if this was normal. After quite a bit of reassurance from Annette, Byleth now understood how incredibly _odd_ it was to not speak to one’s spouse for so long. How incredibly sad that sounded to everybody who heard, and how pitiful the entire situation truly was. 

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to call it pitiful. It was more an example of self preservation, perhaps for them both. 

Despite not speaking, Byleth saw him daily. She approached in the evening with a plate of food in her hands, and left it on a pew near him. He rarely took notice of her. Most of the time, the plate was untouched, and Byleth would only sigh and take it away the next day, only to bring a new one. 

The days that he ate were much less chaotic. Byleth observed the empty plate with interest, picking it up and noticing that the fork she brought yesterday had been discarded. Dimitri kept his back to her, not providing any explanation as to the missing fork - perhaps he had stabbed someone with it? 

Byleth set down a new dish of steak and potatoes. It was something hearty that would stay in his stomach longer. She always tried to give him protein so he wouldn’t starve as easily. 

The end of Dimitri’s cloak brushed against the ground as he shifted in place. He said nothing, his mouth set into a line as he stared at what used to be the altar. His arms were crossed over his chest, and brows furrowed. 

Byleth snuck another glance. She opened her mouth, about to gleefully point out the cleaned plate she held in her hands. Yet, rethinking the decision, she shut her lips tightly and turned around, leaving in silence. 

Little did she know, the man at the altar turned. He listened to her steps fading behind him, and twisted his body to watch her retreating figure. Dimitri’s mouth opened as if he was about to speak as well, but in the same manner as her, his lips shut tightly. He couldn’t be the first to speak, not when so much time had gone by. He was far too stubborn. 

In silence, his gaze lingered on Byleth. She carried the plate through the chapel doors, walking slowly and carefully. Dimitri took her in with a deep breath, and painted her figure on his memory. 

The smell, the sound, the feeling of her presence, they kept him company as he ate the food, enraptured by thoughts of her. 

* * *

“Why do you think he acts that way?”

How could one _not_ wonder why he acted that way? How could one _not_ look at Dimitri and wonder what he’s been through? How could one even _begin_ to take a guess?

All Byleth could bear to answer her with was a careless shrug, “I don’t know.” She had an idea of why, but it was her own to keep, and her very disgust at the thought kept her from sharing it.

Theories played through her mind at night. They never left her alone. Dimitri so rarely had spoken about his life before she found him, but he implied it’s difficulties. Byleth could only imagine his life on the run, and the things he had to do. 

Ingrid ripped off another piece of jerky and chewed it slowly. She sat beside Byleth on the hillside, surrounded by waving grass in the breeze. It was a beautiful day, a day that didn’t match the tone of the conversation. 

“Felix always warned me,” her voice was quiet, “but I never believed him.”

Byleth snorted as she chewed on her own jerky, “How could you? He was so… _kind_ before.”

Ingrid eyed her with poorly disguised pity. Byleth was accustomed to that look, it was all anyone ever looked at her with when the topic of Dimitri was raised. Ingrid was far more genuine in her concern than others, though, and was a comfort to have around. “Maybe he still is? In some weird way.”

If that was true, it had to be the weirdest way ever. Byleth only shrugged again, keeping her eyes ahead of her. “I don’t know.” It felt like that was all she ever said about her husband anymore. _I don’t know. I don’t know. Sorry, I don’t know_.

Behind them the camp bustled with activity. It was much harder moving an entire army, versus moving one class and a few soldiers. Fortunately, Seteth was around to help, and was much more experienced than Byleth in such things. 

Dimitri had his own tent, and had locked himself away for the entirety of the journey. He always walked at the back of the group, and spoke to nobody. It was almost as if he wasn’t there, save for the times he complained about moving too slowly. Everybody managed to ignore him well enough, and was learning to do so better and better by the day. 

“What’s the name of the place we’re going again?” She asked, mouth full. 

Ingrid sighed, “The Valley of Torment.”

“That sounds like something Dima would say,” she huffed a quick, humorless laugh, “Like,” lowering her voice to imitate him, she waved her hands dramatically, “‘ _my heart is a valley of torment’_.”

Ingrid managed a smile, “Nooo, that’s his stomach! His heart is a black void of suffering.”

“So we’re going to Dimitri’s stomach? Where it’s gassy and boiling all the time?”

“Perhaps if he calmed down it wouldn’t be so unpleasant!”

Together, the girls laughed. It felt relieving to fill the air with a pleasant sound for once, a sound that wasn’t heard so often in times of war. Ingrid threw her head back and opened her mouth wide, holding her stomach with one hand as she giggled. 

Byleth watched her, and as the laughter began to dissolve, she laid her head on her friend’s shoulder contently, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “though I don’t understand why you’re thanking me.”

Absently, she pulled on a strand of grass under her hand. It was soft, dying the tip of her fingers green as she twisted on it. “It’s just nice to laugh about something.”

“Yeah,” a quiet, melancholy smile, another cloud floating overhead, unaware and uncaring of the humans below, “we all need to just sit back and laugh sometimes.”

* * *

It was very, _very_ hot in Ailell. Dimitri almost seemed normal as he tried so desperately to not look affected by the heat. 

But damn, he was sweltering.

His cheeks were flushed. His shoulders slumped. He always tended to look tired, but in the heat of the craters and steam, he was positively dead. 

Byleth watched with pursed lips. The incredibly stubborn part of her heart told her that she would _not_ be the one to break their nearly two month long silence. Yet, the more compassionate, wifely side of herself poked, reminded, prodded, and _nagged_. 

The nagging was very effective, as always. Byleth scowled at her weakness. 

Dimitri paused to wipe the dew from his forehead. His messy hair mixed in with the sweat and stuck to his skin. Byleth watched with narrowed eyes, “You, uh, okay there?”

He scowled suddenly, as if he was surprised that she was speaking to him. “Fine.” It was the first time they’d spoken in so long, and his voice cracked with disuse. 

Fine, he had said. She watched him continue to walk along the pathway with a mild sense of relief. He could still speak, he would still respond, and he was still grumpy.

It was periodically growing hotter, and Byleth noticed his cheeks redden further. Her sense of urgency grew increasingly with the light sigh that escaped his lips. Quickening, she kept at his heels, “Listen, I know you hate me, but you _really_ don’t look good. Here,” a water canteen, lukewarm in her hand as she held it out to him, “the ice probably melted long ago, but you need it.”

His gaze was accusing and sharp. He could be _far_ more stubborn than her - a trait that was not present in their relationship five years prior - yet the heat was enough to lessen his pride. With a quick swipe, he stole away the water canteen.

Byleth averted her attention as casually as she could manage. She watched from the corner of her eye as he tipped it back to let the water run down his dry throat. “I probably backwashed a ton in that thing.” She informed with a careless hum. 

“Don’t care,” he shoved the empty canteen back into her hands, “this is hell.”

“Oh, something other than your own life is hell? I didn’t know that was possible.”

He sneered. She couldn’t help her smirk, which proved to deepen his glare. Byleth knew that Dimitri preferred the cold, yet she didn’t know he would be so affected by the heat. As the army marched further to the heart of the valley, Byleth watched him pull the furs and cloaks off his shoulders. 

He had acknowledged her in this moment more than in the last several weeks. He tossed the cloak at her, and Byleth caught it with open arms. It smelled terrible, and she felt quite gross holding it, but was happy to help nonetheless. 

With his cloak off, she could truly see how emaciated he was. Her eyes lingered on his waist. It had shrunk even further, and her worry only grew larger. 

“I’ll throw this in the convoy,” she informed, turning around to locate the supplies wagon among the march, “do you want me to grab you some food?”

Dimitri didn’t answer, only walking past in brooding silence. His forehead shined with sweat, but his gaze stayed unwavering and determined. 

Eventually, the battle began. Gwendal challenged them with his grey banners waving in the hot air. Byleth stayed at Dimitri’s side as they made their way to Rodrigue. 

Despite her anger at her husband, if she didn’t stay beside him in battle he would find himself injured beyond repair, and no amount of anger would permit her to allow that. 

He cut down enemy soldiers left and right. He roared of betrayal, he roared of traitors, of monsters and murderers. Byleth stayed silent as she guarded his back, a difficult job with his speed and determination. 

She wasn’t sure if he ever took notice of her. She wasn’t sure of much during battle, simply trying to not think about her sword and her weakened state from months ago. Her muscles had been slowly returning, yet they ached every time she used them. It was not pleasant to swing her weapon and use her crest, when every bone in her body screamed for her to rest. 

A jab from a lance. A swipe from an ax. Byleth ducked and rolled, and barely missed another strike. Dimitri was only a foot away, his back to her as he held off a group of soldiers on his own. 

After rolling, she turned to see him just barely dodge an arrow. It landed behind him, near Byleth’s hand. Dimitri moved like a hurricane, unaware of anything besides his target goals, and destroying all else in the vicinity.

Byleth pushed herself back up, just in time to earn another swipe of an ax. The enemy soldier sneered, holding the weapon clumsily as he swung it through the air, aiming for her stomach. There was very little time to block it, and as she raised her sword, she realized that the blade would _still_ hit her. She would still be hurt, and there was nothing her reflexes could do. 

It was an amateur move, to close one’s eyes in battle. Yet, she found herself shutting them nonetheless, flinching, and expecting the blade to slice through her flesh. It was nothing she hadn’t felt before, and she knew that divine pulse would rewind the second it touched her, but being killed was never a nice feeling, nor one she would ever be used to. 

Seconds passed, yet her skin was not broken yet. The sound of a yell, a yelp of pain and shock, and a grunt reached her ears. Opening her eyes, she caught Dimitri kicking the ax wielder in the stomach. She watched him stumble back as the prince stepped forward to bury his lance into the soldier’s chest. 

Her own guts turned in sympathy for her enemy. Dimitri gripped the lance with both hands and yanked it up and out. Growling, he stared into the eyes of the dying man, “Do _not_ touch her.”

Byleth’s knees shook. The enemies around them stepped away in shock at the blood covered man before them. The man they recognized as the prince of Faerghus. He sneered, he growled, he was an animal as he straightened up to look at them. Their comrade’s blood dripped from the tip of his lance. 

“None of you touch her,” he commanded, more of a warrior King in that moment than any other, “Or you can expect a more gruesome death than any other. I will pull your intestines from your stomach and force them down your throat,” he grew more vivid, more excited as he took a step towards the fearful soldiers, “I will feed you your own eyeballs. I will cut off your fingers one by one and stuff them up your ass!”

Despite the horror, Byleth couldn’t help but smile. Her inner 12 year old giggled at the image of a man with fingers in his butt. 

Dimitri found no humor in his threats. Only another feral battle cry, and a whip of his lance. He took down another soldier. They ran from the prince, and Dimitri followed them swiftly. He was hunting, a cat playing with his food. 

Byleth, feeling touched in the oddest of ways, merely shrugged and followed close behind. 

There was a twisted sort of protectiveness in Dimitri. She knew not why he announced such a thing, what had possessed him to inform the enemy of his methods of torture, but she knew he would not waver to carry it through. 

She followed, knowing she was safe behind his weapon. 

* * *

“So, let me get this straight. You’re… _married_ to Dimitri?”

Byleth was quite tired of this question. 

She huffed, she sighed. She looked away and bounced her knee, avoiding Rodrigue’s concerned look. He didn’t hold the pitying expression that she had grown used to, but instead an expression of worry. The look a father would wear. 

“Why does everybody only ask about my husband?” She rolled her eyes good naturedly, “I have hobbies, you know. I have things I do that don’t involve him!”

Being so used to Glenn and Felix, Rodrigue was entirely unfazed. His smile was loose and gentle, “Okay. What hobbies?”

What hobbies? Byleth had no hobbies, and had not expected him to ask. She looked down, mouth opening, then shutting immediately. The bouncing in her knee grew faster, “I like to, uh…” to drink, to sleep, to look in the mirror and give pep talks to herself. 

Rodrigue laughed at her sudden awkward silence. He had a wonderful laugh, it filled the room and put her at ease. It reminded her of Jeralt. 

“I’m just messing with you,” he ruffled her hair, earning an annoyed groan from the woman as if she was a child, “I’m sure you’re very busy with a life outside of your spouse.”

“I am,” she was, it was not a lie, “but to answer your question, yes. We’re married.”

“You know what that makes you?”

“Sad.”

“No,” another concerned tilt of his head, another easy going smile that disguised every negative thought, “That makes you the future Queen of Faerghus.”

The thought _had_ occurred to her once before, but truthfully, she oftentimes forgot it. When Dimitri refrained from showering for months, it was easy to forget that he was royalty. 

“Not yet,” her smile was fakely polite, “You never know what could happen.”

“I think you’ll be fine, just… keep an eye on him for me.”

She would do so even if he wasn’t her husband. Even if he wasn’t royalty. Even if they weren’t in love. 

Byleth found, very quickly and very early in life, that she could let nothing rest. She _had_ to help others, she had no choice. Jeralt’s own heart of gold had given his daughter the same annoyingly inconvenient morals. How she hated her compassion - her _emotions_ , disgusting.

Rodrigue deserved that knowledge. Rodrigue deserved to sleep well at night knowing his pseudo adopted son was taken care of. If only Byleth could assure him of this in complete confidence, “I’ll try, it’s… hard.” A show of vulnerability she had taken care to cover up for so long, “I can only give him so much.”

He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder, “I know, Byleth. All I ask is that you remember who he was, and who he _can_ _be_.”

“Who could he be?”

“I don’t know,” a cheerful smirk, “whoever we help him to be. See what you can in him, and let’s take it from there.”

To see what she could in him. To see what she could. In him. In Dimitri. Byleth smirked, “I’ll need a magnifying glass.”

“That’s the spirit!”

It, indeed, was the spirit. Hours later, the future Queen of Faerghus took Rodrigue Fraldarius’s advice. 

She would try to find the good in Dimitri. 

And in doing so, make him incredibly uncomfortable. 

Perhaps it was the extra pair of eyes, perhaps it was the fact that those eyes were Byleth’s. Perhaps it was a bad day, or perhaps it was her large, owl-like stare. 

No matter the cause, Dimitri eventually groaned, arms falling limply to his sides. He turned away from the altar and began to pace from one end of the room, and to the other. Byleth rested her chin in her palm and watched every step with interest. 

Good quality number one: Dimitri had a very confident walk. That was nice. 

His good eye lingered on her as he approached. Everytime he passed her by during his pacing, his gaze rested on her. She couldn’t quite tell if it was from confusion, or from anger. He didn’t have a very wide range of facial expressions these days, and it was becoming even harder to read him. 

He passed by again. Byleth stayed in her position, leg crossed and chin in her palm. The breeze stirred up from his cloak as he passed by rustled her hair against her cheek. 

Good quality number two: Dimitri fanned her very nicely everytime he walked past. 

She closed her eyes and nodded. Yes, she was very good at finding these nice qualities of his. She was a natural, and Rodrigue would be so pleased with her findings! 

As Byleth smiled, giggling to herself with her eyes closed as she revelled in her absolute talent of seeing the best in her husband. Dimitri, from the other end of the room, turned around to continue his pacing. 

His gait slowed as he neared. He stopped in front of her, arms crossing tightly over his chest. Byleth felt his presence and opened her eyes to look up at him. Silence ticked by. 

She stared. He stared. 

The room was empty, save for the birds chirping outside. Byleth looked at him with interest.

Good quality number three: He was handsome even when very dirty. 

That was _very_ nice. 

Byleth refused to speak. Dimitri broke the silence with a sudden glare, “Go away.”

The floodgates opened. The ropes finally snapped. The discomfort and tension in the air had grown so thick that husband and wife were choking on it. 

Her stomach fell. Her blood nearly boiled, and her fists clenched. She squared her shoulders, “Just as I’m finally letting go of what happened, you have to go and tell me what to do again!”

“You were letting go?” He raised his brow, tilting his head, “That’s foolish. When I said go, I meant it!”

“I know,” she hissed, “but I guess I’m the biggest fool in Fodlan! You seem to think so!”

She watched him with a glare. His scowl dissolved, his brows unfurrowed and he stared at her blankly. The tension could’ve been cut with a knife before, but now it was turning into a fine mist. A fire that lit for a second, and was blown out the next. 

He was so tall, standing before her as she sat in the pew. The chapel was empty besides the two of them, and their voices echoed through the chamber. “You are.” He answered, kneeling down to squat in front of her. 

Byleth looked down at him. He tilted his head up to meet her eyes, his hands folded over his knees. Byleth refused to break eye contact, only deepening it. Her own anger began to wash away with the tides. “I like to think of myself as very supportive instead.”

The chirping of birds outside. The ticking of a clock. It was all so loud as Dimitri stared blankly, “Why are you here?”

She leaned in just a centimeter more, hands drumming against her thighs now, “Rodrigue told me to focus on your good qualities.”

“I have none.”

That was a lie. It was a lie to both her, and himself. “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t think you had any.”

“Yet you feel the need to come and observe me? To find just a sliver of hope?”

“I like reassurance sometimes… and seeing you squirm under my stare is funny.” With a smile, her hand brushed against his cheek, making him shut his eyes as if her touch pained him, “I know you’re still good, Dima, but I’m only human- er, well, kind of human.” The reminder traveled through her limbs, tiring her out as she said it, “I don’t always have the energy to remember.”

His voice had lowered. It was quiet, resentful. “Nobody can hold onto hope forever.”

“I think everybody can,” she argued, thumb stroking against his cheek, “all we need is a reminder. I’m being reminded right now,” pushing his hair behind his ear, she let her fingers trail down his jawline, “You’re so soft, you can be so gentle. You can be so kind. Even when you’re having a hard time, you still crave justice. You’re so humble that you’d die for your family.”

His eye opened. His brow furrowed. Byleth trailed her fingers to his chin, and lifted his face. She leaned over him as he lowered further onto his knees. 

“I feel,” his voice croaked with lack of use, “like a worshipper before a Goddess. Like I’m begging you for my life.”

She snickered, “You’re not. I’m just your wife.”

“You’re the Goddess.”

“I’m not,” a frown, now, as she realized he was serious, “I was just her vassal. I only hold the tiniest sliver of her power, and I am… _nothing_ like Sothis.”

“You are,” now it was his hands that held _her_ face. The leather and iron of his armor brushed against her cheeks coldly, but she knew that it was Dimitri’s fingers underneath. It was her husband’s hands that stroked her skin so tenderly, “You’re far more a Goddess than you have ever been.”

“...Are you hallucinating again?”

Yes, and no. He was always hallucinating. But this Byleth, this woman, was real. 

“You need to go,” another crackly whisper that broke his voice in two, “You’re too good for this.”

Her hands left his chin. Leaning in further, she rested her forehead on his and closed her eyes. They breathed each other’s air, taking in every scent and sound and feeling that they could offer. 

“Good quality number four,” she breathed, “sometimes I catch a glimpse of who you _could_ be.”

“I thought you married me for me.”

“I did,” her eyes opened to meet his, their foreheads still resting on each other, her body leaning over his, “but I also want the best for you. To stay this way forever is not healthy, Dima.”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he untangled his arms from hers. Byleth pulled away to allow him to stand, and cross his arms over his chest while he looked down at her. Once again, he had shut her out. His face twisted into an amused, breathy smile that held no humor. 

Byleth’s stomach dropped as she watched him change. The tension was back, and growing from it’s grave to choke her once more. Her fingers tingled with the touch of his skin. “Dima?”

“I’m _sorry_ I can’t be the person you want,” he hissed, the wall between them built even higher, “I’m _sorry_ that I’m so ill. I tried to warn you! I have no future to give you!” Brick by brick, word by word, their worlds were separating once more. 

“I know,” she resisted the urge to shrink into her seat, instead forcing her shoulders to square confidently under his glare, “I _know_ that you told me! But guess what?” She stood, leaning on her tiptoes to look him in the eye, “I _didn’t_ _listen_! And frankly, I don’t give a damn!”

Their breath passed between them once again. They shared each other’s scents, feelings, the air between their bodies just as they had minutes ago. She was as close as she could be, with him eight inches taller than her and her body so petite next to his. Byleth could be intimidating with her stares, her fighting, but in a game of stature, Dimitri won. 

He looked down at her. His arms remained crossed over his chest. His eye narrowed, and brows raised. He almost looked bored at the small woman trying to size him up. 

“You never do listen to me.”

No, she didn’t. And she wouldn’t when he said such terrible things. Before she could retort in her outrage, Dimitri’s hands went to her cheeks. 

The kiss was sudden. It captured her, locking her in his arms and keeping her prisoner to his touch. Leaning up further, she revelled in how recklessly, how desperately, his lips crashed on hers. His hands were tight on the sides of her face, fingers digging into her hair, and his nose brushing against her cheeks. 

The world could’ve stopped spinning and Byleth wouldn’t have noticed. There could’ve been an attack on the monastery and she wouldn’t have cared. All she knew, all she _craved_ , was the hands of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd holding her as if he was about to lose her. 

And, perhaps, in his mind, he _was_ about to lose her. 

Hesitantly, afraid that he would pull away, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. Her lower back hurt with stretching so far, yet she ignored the pain as she deepened the kiss. He pulled away for air, and dove in again as her fingers tangled into his hair sweetly.

Their bodies pressed together. Their worlds were shared. Byleth closed her eyes, and focused. She focused on his lips, dry and hungry against hers. She focused on his hands sliding down from her face, finding solace on her hips. She focused on his fingers digging into her skin, and his chest pressing against hers so wonderfully. 

It was unfortunate how quickly he ripped himself away. WIth a fresh breath of air, his lips parted from hers, and chest heaved lightly in relief. Byleth kept her eyes closed as he whispered, “I love you.”

If her brain was an egg, it would’ve been scrambled. It would’ve been scrambled with butter, perhaps, and bacon on the side. Byleth’s mind betrayed her in a way so villainous, a way so terrible. 

She gulped. She was floating, her limbs and heart and toes and fingers and mouth all tingling. 

“That’s cool.”

Dimitri blinked. He nearly looked like his old self as he pulled away to stare at her. 

Byleth’s eyes fluttered open. Her mouth was parted as she blinked at him, shocked at her own words. 

“Cool?” He hissed, “I tell you I love you, and you say _that’s_ _cool_?”

“I…” clearing her throat in her absolute awkwardness, she attempted to step away, yet his hands on her hips only tightened when she pulled, “Apparently, I am very dumb. Dimitri, you knew that about me, right? That I’m dumb?”

A hand on his cheek, an endearing look to break through his exasperated expression. She stepped closer, melting into his arms, “Let me start over, please? Let me retry.”

“Too lat-”

“I love you too. Goddess, Dima, I’m so in love with you.”

“No-

“If love was a drop of rain, my love for you would be a flood. I love you, stupid, I love you so much! Gods-”

“I get it.”

“No! You don’t! I _want_ you!” She huffed in excitement, clenching her fists as she stared at him with wide, vibrant eyes, “I want you so much! I’ve wanted you for _so_ _long_! I don’t think you understand the sheer depth, the sheer feeling, the sheer _lust_ , the shee-”

“I understand-”

“No! You really don’t-”

“Be quiet,” a rough hand on her mouth, clamping her shut and cutting off her pronouncements, “I get it. Just be quiet.”

Her response was a muffled ‘no’ underneath his palm. Her eyes sparkled with determination as she stared up at him. Her hands clenched into fists in front of her chest, a rare show of pure excitement from the Goddess vassal. It was odd to see her in such a state, but it was something he wouldn’t refuse, as uncomfortable as he was to another human’s touch. 

“I love you too,” a dark reminder, a serious expression marring him as he stared down at the woman in his arms, “which... is why I want you to leave.”

Her head tilted. His hand covered her mouth as she looked at him so curiously. Dimitri desperately ignored the hurt that crept into her eyes. 

“I feel okay today,” it was uncomfortable to admit, and he stiffened with the confession, “but I might not later, nor tomorrow, nor next week. I’m helping you, Byleth. I’m protecting you from… this. The blood on my hands, the revenge I must get, from _myself_. They’re getting worse,” a whisper, now, his eyes shifted past her shoulder where Glenn watched with a twisted grin.

He shuddered. Byleth pried his hand from her mouth, “How can I help?”

“Go.”

“No.”

“ _Go_ ,” a command while he untangled his arms from her hips, “for both our sakes. Don’t speak to me unless it’s about battle plans. I beg of you.”

He spoke as he did to his ghosts. He spoke with fear, with yearning to escape. 

She was desperate, reaching for him through the fog in her mind. He pulled away as she stepped forward, “You can’t expect me to ignore you.”

Another step back for him, another step forward for her. She stopped as he turned his shoulder to her, head tilting away so she couldn’t see his face. Her arms fell loosely to her sides in the sudden realization of defeat. 

“Go away.”

“Can we not have one conversation that doesn't end like this?”

Dimitri turned away fully. He faced the altar again, knee bouncing and arms crossing. His arms clenched in anxiety, and shoulders rolled as if he was rolling her words off. 

Frustrated, Byleth turned away, heels clacking on the marble. It was the only sound between them, a wordless goodbye of anger and confusion. 

Byleth wished she could cry. She wished she could scream and that nobody would hear. She wished her father was around, she wished Dimitri’s father was around. She wished for a hand to hold. She wished for a husband that was healthy. 

Paradise had been so beautiful for the few seconds it allowed her.

**One Month Later**

It was orange outside.

And Dimitri hated the color orange. 

It reminded him of fire, of the heart of the flame which burned so brightly against the carriage in Duscur. It reminded him of the past, of the sunsets he watched, and of the hands he held. It reminded him of the taste of Byleth’s lips against his, of the smell of her hair. Of the fire choking his throat until he had to run away just to survive. Orange was an angry color, and Dimitri had enough anger to last him a lifetime. 

The sky was orange. The sun was setting, and if he was a normal man he would’ve stopped to bask in its beauty. Yet, he was _not_ a normal man, and he only spared it a disinterested glance. Why should the sky earn his appreciation when there were so many more important things at hand?

Lambert followed at his heels in the way Byleth used to. He didn’t even seem like his father anymore, just the bloodied hallucination that pulled at his ear every second of the day. The more logical side of his brain told him that this was nonsense, but the emotional side won out. It always did. 

Dimitri stopped in front of Byleth’s door. Holding himself back, he steadied himself and raised a hand to rapt on the wood harshly. He had to control himself just the slightest bit if she was to listen to him. 

Behind him, several curious eyes passed. They weren’t fellow soldiers, fellow fighters against Edelgard, just ignorant and drilling eyes that burned into his back hotly. He ignored them, and kept his own gaze steady on the wood patterns of her door. 

How would she react? How would she feel about her husband at her door in the evening, asking to talk? They had not shared one word since last month when he told her to go. 

And the kiss. The kiss replayed in his mind between the nightmares. It was the only sweetness he would allow in his life. 

It was only two seconds of waiting when he cleared his throat, irritation rising in his chest as he scowled, “Woman, answer the door.”

They sky was slowly turning even more orange overhead. He shifted uncomfortably under the sunset, feeling exposed when away from his usual spot in front of the altar. Inside of Byleth’s room, he could hear a chair push back against the wood, and footsteps brush against the floor. She was coming, and he straightened his shoulders to greet her. His heart tempted to catch in his throat, but he shut his eyes against the feeling. 

The door opened a crack, and he could only hear her voice answering him, “Who is it?”

She _knew_ who it was. Dimitri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he grabbed the knob, ripping the door open to reveal a shocked Byleth standing in the doorframe. She stared at him with an open mouth as he set the splintered door aside. 

He had not even noticed his crest glowing. He never felt his strength, and rarely realized when he was using it. Glancing at the door, it dawned on him that he had ripped it off its hinges. It hung from his hand sadly.

Unapologetic, he dropped it on the porch carelessly. Byleth gaped, “You broke my door!”

“Yes?” He narrowed his eye, “You weren’t answering quickly enough.”

“That is _no_ reason to go around breaking things!” She was almost screeching as she bent down to grab the edges of the door and attempt to set it back into place. Dimitri stepped away, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her struggle with the broken hinges and wood.

It was unfixable. He only blinked, “We need to speak.”

“Oh,” she laughed bitterly, glancing over her shoulder at him with a twisted smirk that nearly matched the one he wore in battle, “Now you want to talk to me? I’m honored, I really am, but some maniac just broke my door, so I’m quite busy.”

He huffed in annoyance. Nudging her aside - trying to be gentle - he grabbed the door and set it back into place. Splintered wood stretched out from the doorknob where he had grabbed it, and the hinges were split away from the iron. She would either need a blacksmith, or an entirely new door, but he managed to set the wood into place well enough. As he stepped back to inspect his handiwork, she watched with set lips. 

“Now,” he grunted, “it’s fixed. So we can talk.” And she can stop whining. 

Byleth stared at him incredulously. Her lashes fluttered in disbelief, and mouth opened, then shut. She turned her head away to observe the barely fixed door to her room, “I hope this is important”

It _was_ important. Without another word, he turned sharply and went down the steps. She followed at his heels, replacing Lambert’s position. It was a temporary relief, but he knew that his father would be back eventually. 

He led her across the courtyard and to the chapel. It had grown even darker, the orange now turning into a greyish blue. He felt more at ease in the dark, where the suspicious eyes of the priests and knights couldn’t pierce him so sharply. 

Slowing in his walk, he let Byleth catch up. It was a rare show of consideration, and he reminded himself that it was only because he required her ears to be attentive. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, feeling awkward, for he had not spoken to an actual human in weeks, “I want to attack Enbarr.”

Byleth, too, was awkward. She shifted her shoulders as they walked, delicate hands twisting and turning in front of her as she listened to his proposal. It was the first time they had spoken in so long, a month having passed. He had not seen a reason to speak to her, and she had stopped visiting him - just as he requested.

Byleth bit her lip, and stared ahead of her as they walked, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“I’ve already spoken to Gilbert about this,” he was gruff, uncomfortable in his own skin, “He supports it.”

“Well, _I_ don’t,” she guffawed, “that’s suicide, Dima.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should!” She squeaked, stopping in place and staring at him. He walked ahead a few steps, then stopped to turn to her and look at her as she stared. Her eyes were wide, incredulous and disbelieving, “You’d be putting this entire army at risk!”

“I don’t care.” He nearly laughed at how little she understood. 

“Did I teach you nothing?” She hissed, arms crossing, “Did you never listen in class? That would be the worst possible move for our army, and you know it.”

He furrowed his brows, hair falling into his face as he shook his head. He cared little for his appearance, where his hair was and the state of it. Usually, it shrouded his already compromised vision. He fought by feeling and reflex, not by sight - which is most likely why everybody reprimanded him for his recklessness. 

“I don’t care about the army,” he retorted with a glare, “I care about having her head.” She should know such things, she had traveled with him to Garreg Mach for weeks, knowing what his goals were. For her to act surprised now was just a farce, and she could not trick him into feeling pity for her. 

Byleth only stared with a furrowed brow. Her lips had formed into a frown, “I know you do, but that’s not the way to do it.”

“Of course it is,” he snorted, “she’s in Enbarr. So we go to Enbarr.”

“You’re going to get us all killed.”

“You forget,” he smiled bitterly, tilting his head and closing his eye as he mused joyfully, “I have _you_ , professor. And that sword. And your crest stone… Perhaps you’ll turn into a dragon for me?”

Her eyes narrowed, “That’s not funny.”

He wasn't trying to be. He opened his eyes to smirk at her once again, “We’ll be fine. If I can just have her head, then we’ll be fine.”

“ _You’ll_ be fine, you mean?”

Well, yes, of course. Lambert smiled from behind her, nodding his head in approval. Yes, he’d be just fine. He needed nothing else. “The world will be fine if she’s dead.”

Byleth’s voice had grown soft, “You’ll just sacrifice your soldiers in the name of your own goals?”

Dimitri paused. 

A spotlight shone on him. Desperately, he wanted to cover his face and hide away. Byleth’s flat, accusing glare burned him. “War is a necessity,” he clenched his fist at his side, “I did not start this.”

“But were you willing to?”

A stony glare. More tension, and Byleth didn’t think this fight would end in a kiss. Not this time. 

“If that’s what it took…” He glanced at Patricia, shimmering nearby, covered in burns and blood, “It was not what I wanted, though. It’s what I got.”

“That sounds a lot like someone we know. She believes that as well.”

Fire burned in him. Perhaps it was the lack of food, perhaps it was the world spinning around him, threatening to collapse. Perhaps it was the passing eyes of priests and servants, boring through his skin and reducing him to nothing. 

He truly wanted to vomit at that moment. For Byleth to even _dare_ to compare him to Edelgard. His knees shook, and he did not know whether it was anger, or fear that coiled through every inch of him. 

He did not even spare her an answer. 

Byleth was beautiful, even when angry. Byleth was beautiful, even when glaring. Byleth was breathtakingly, world shatteringly, beautiful, even when she hated him. He stared at her, shoulders shaking and fists clenching. 

“We are going to Enbarr,” it was a hiss, he didn’t think he even sounded like himself, “It’s my army, and you cannot stop me.”

Senseless, how she compared him. He was nothing like Edelgard.

Byleth looked so breathtakingly merciful as she stared, “Okay.”

He sneered, feeling animal-like, “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yes,” she chuckled to herself, “I do, but I know that I can’t stop you.”

No, she couldn’t. There they stood, in the middle of the courtyard, halfway to the chapel. He wasn’t sure what his intentions were, he knew that he had wanted to talk about going to Enbarr, to warn her of his plans, rather than to ask for permission. But to take her to the chapel, he wondered what his body was expecting, for the Goddess to want to walk along with a beast? For the Goddess to stay with him in the large, empty room, and watch him speak to nobody?

It was preposterous, he knew. It was an old habit that didn’t want to die, to crave Byleth. He had tried so hard to kill it. 

Byleth stared. Pity colored her face, shown in her eyes and painted her lips. He hated that look, it started a fire in his heart that made him want to scream. Her voice was barely a whisper as she stepped towards him and laid her hands on his arms. 

Her touch burned through his armor. For so long, the only things he ever felt were the brush of weapons and steel, of tree branches and of cold river water. Another person, his love nonetheless, was so foreign that he nearly fell to his knees at the very contact. 

He should be used to her, by now. She had been so loving before coming to Garreg Mach, yet he had ruined that. As he ruined everything. “It’s been a month since you’ve tried this again,” he announced gruffly, “what makes you think my opinion has changed?”

She looked up at him in that way he had craved as a boy. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She was divine. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from collapsing. 

“I’ve missed you, and… the first thing you say to me after an entire month is that you want to kill everybody and march to Enbarr.” Her smile turned bitter, “You’re so romantic.”

Her sarcasm had been so charming once. He didn’t know what to think of it now. “I’m doing what must be done.”

“Dimitri,” a whisper, a hand stroking down his arm, barely felt through his armor, “won’t you just marry me and forget this nonsense?”

He was already married to her. He clenched his left hand, thumb brushing against the ring hidden under his glove. Looking away from her divine face, he stared at the grass instead, “What’s your intent, woman?”

Pulling back, she huffed, “I thought that perhaps you were speaking to me out of regret.”

“Regret?” He had many, but it was not his intent when seeking her out. 

“Regret for what you said before,” her chin lifted arrogantly, “about me being a tool for you to use, and about kissing me and pushing me away again. I... thought that perhaps you were feeling better.”

No, in fact he felt worse. A laugh escaped his lips before he could even contemplate stopping it. He threw his head back, letting the chuckle dissolve into the air. She lingered with glaring, annoyed eyes. He returned the look, “You’re still playing at romance, I see.”

“I am _not_ playing.”

“You are,” he barked, “you still have hope that the man you loved isn’t dead, and that, in itself, is _pitiful_.”

Byleth watched Dimitri. Dimitri watched Byleth. She began to run her fingers through her hair, looking away and biting the inside of her lip in thought. Curious, he awaited her reply, as if he took humor in frustrating her. She was so desperately easy to frustrate when it didn’t matter, yet when he was truly trying to, she was calmer than the Goddess herself. 

Byleth finally sighed and flickered her green eyes to meet his, “Are you hangry?”

His heart fell. He frowned. 

“No.”

“You are,” she insisted, “you’re hangry.”

Incredulous, he grimaced, “Hangry?”

“Angry, hungry. You’re hangry. When was the last time you ate?”

“Do not…” he searched for the words through his frustration, “Do not infantilize me!”

“I’m not!” She defended childishly, “I’m just taking care of you! I haven’t checked up on you in a while!”

“You don’t need to check up on me,” he hissed, “I’m a grown man!”

“A grown man that never eats.”

“So?”

“Come to the dining hall with me.”

Like a date. Dimitri only squinted in amusement, almost making fun of his wife for her softness. Byleth, even in the past, could never resist taking care of him. Perhaps it stemmed from her being older than him, and now with him being older than her, it just seemed silly to see her trying to mother him. 

Over her shoulder, Patricia glared. Dimitri was knocked back down to Fodlan with the look on her face, feeling his heart skip a beat in fear. He stepped away, gasping, “No. No. I have places to be.”

Byleth either chose to not acknowledge his fear, or she didn’t notice. She only stepped forward, closer to him and reaching out a compassionate hand, “What places? Dima, please come eat dinner with me.”

“No,” he was out of breath, trying so desperately to hide the fear lodging in his throat, “No, I can’t. I don’t need it. I don’t deserve it.”

“You deserve it,” her hands caught him. He was a small animal in a trap, captured by the neck and held in place. She wrapped her arms around him and he was trapped. The world threatened to collapse underneath him as Byleth buried her face into his chest, “Please, please, eat some food.”

In the past, Dimitri would’ve treated her so delicately. He knew that Byleth was not a flower that would wilt at the very touch, yet he feared his own strength so much so that he would hesitate to even hold her hand. Now, as an adult, far more confident, and far more distressed, he found that he didn’t care. He fell to his knees with her arms around him so tightly.

His nose buried into her shoulder. She fell with him, holding herself upright as she kept him close to her. His arms snaked around her waist without him thinking of the implication. At that moment, he didn’t care. He just needed her, he just held her, he just took her in and dedicated every inch of her scent to his memory so he would never forget. 

“I’ve been mad at you,” she laughed to herself, muffled as she buried her face into his shoulder, “but let me take care of you. I need to. I can’t help myself.”

He couldn’t help himself either. Feeling like a child, like a wounded animal, he shut his eyes. “I can’t go to the dining hall. I need… somewhere else.”

“Your old room?” She pulled back to look at him, “just for the night. Give me this night, and I’ll go to Enbarr with you. Without question.”

“You’re selfish.”

“I am.”

She was selfish as she pulled him along. He was selfish as he ignored the world and let her lead him. The ground was selfish as it threatened to swallow him whole. The sky was selfish as it threatened to fall on him and wake him from this dream. 

Perhaps he truly was hangry. Perhaps he was dying, because he hadn’t eaten for so long. Perhaps he was going insane, with no way to return.

Whatever it was, it didn’t erase the warmth of Byleth’s hand. He could barely believe it as she pulled him along, through the doors and up the stairs. He had walked this path for so long, yet it all seemed unfamiliar when walking it now, as a completely different person. 

Dimitri was gone, he was just a monster now. He could barely believe it, no matter how much he preached it. He could barely believe his own words. 

Five years prior, five years in the past when he was happy, when the world was better, he could remember stumbling up these steps, Byleth’s hand in his. He could remember her laugh, her smile, the warmth she filled him with. The smallest part of his already small heart yearned for every inch of that memory to be lived once again. He nearly choked on it. 

_“I think you’re my favorite person in the world… but don’t tell anyone, I don’t want to hurt any feelings.”_

_Byleth. Byleth. Byleth. Professor, his professor. She was sweet on his tongue, pushed against the wall, his body pressing against her chest as her fingers tugged at his hair. Byleth, Byleth, how she made him feel. It could not be expressed in mere words._

_“I won’t tell,” his breath was hot on her neck, “this is our secret.”_

_Their secret. Everybody knew, yet he liked to pretend. He liked to ignore. He liked to put it out of his mind, and think that he was very sneaky. Nobody knew the nights they spent together, and nobody knew how he looked at her. Nobody knew the bond they shared, and the kisses that barely brushed._

_Even now, his lips only lightly brushed against hers. He wouldn’t dare to deepen the kiss, he wouldn’t dare to make it real. She leaned up to capture him, but he pulled away before she could. “We can’t.”_

_“I know,” her hands gripped at his uniform, leg between his rubbing against his thighs sweetly, “I shouldn’t have even said that.”_

_“It’s fine,” another soft kiss to her hair, “You’re my favorite, too.”_

_“I am?” She was gleeful beyond repair, “Dima, you’re my favorite. My absolute favorite. If I had to choose between you and beef stew, I’d choose you.”_

_“What an honor.”_

_“I know, right?” A giggle, another kiss on his neck that made him want to melt._

_He wasn’t sure if she would remember this moment, if she would move on from him and find other men to charm. He would remember it, though, his first love. His hands on her hips, standing in the middle of the stairwell, bodies pushed against each other. He would treasure this moment like it was gold. “I do, I do with all my heart. There’s nobody I could love more than you.”_

_She closed her eyes and soaked his words in. “Do you like me better than beef stew?”_

_Another kiss to her head, trailing to her ear, to her neck, where his lips stroked down to her shoulder. “Much more than beef stew. I adore you. I live for you. I’ll die for you. I’ll kill for you. I’ll be yours, forever, and you’ll be mine.”_

_His hands tightened. He gently pressed her against the wall. She smiled sweetly. “Yours?”_

_“Mine.”_

_His. “And you’re mine?”_

_And he was hers. “Yes. I’m yours.”_

Even now, he was hers. 

He absolutely hated it. 

“We can hide up here,” a promise whispered over their steps as they went up the same stairs, the same as before, the same that he had walked so many times. Byleth held his hand as she went on, “Just please sleep for a moment. Sleep and eat for me.”

For her. It was the only moment he would allow for her, the only moment he would give to another human, to another being that wasn’t a ghost haunting him. They had disappeared, if only for a moment. The burn of Byleth’s hand against his had scared them away. 

She pushed the door to his room open. It was dusty, having not been dwelled in for so long. His eyes lingered on the chair he had studied in, the bed he slept in, the dresser where he kept his clothes. It was all empty now, remnants from a past that could never be recovered. 

“This is only for one night,” he reminded gruffly, stepping inside and allowing her to close the door behind him, “then we march on Enbarr.”

She put her hands up in defense, “I know, believe me, I know.”

How did she know? Did she understand the sheer determination he held for Edelgard’s head? At one time, he thought that she might. Watching her with wary eyes, he went on, “Do you… know?”

“Know what?” She dusted a palm print shape onto the top of the dresser, pursing her lips in thought as she stared at the plume she made. 

“Know my feelings?” He pushed forward, “You know how desperate I am?”

“I have a feeling,” she sighed, flickering green eyes to him, “but I don’t understand. I never could, because I’m not you.”

“Why do you suddenly care again?” It had been a month since she had even spoken to him. 

“I care if you care,” she leveled him with dark lined eyes, pink lips set into a line as she stared, “I guess I’m a fool, just like you said. You show me an ounce of attention, and I come running back to you.”

It was not the Byleth he remembered. “I don’t think that’s correct.”

She shrugged, “I suppose not. I mean, I’m still wary. I won’t give myself to you if you don’t want it,” she avoided his stare, “but yes, I still support you, I still want to help you. If you come to me wanting help, I’ll give it… I still want you.”

Wanting him. 

She was a fool.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Other than to insult her, which he knew would end badly. She stared at him, and he at her. Their eyes lingered for a moment longer than was comfortable, until Dimitri finally tore himself away.

He felt wild. He felt uncomfortable. There was never a time he _didn’t_ feel uncomfortable. Even in battle, he was too tall, too lanky, too hot, too determined. He was never himself in his own skin. He watched the walls, covered in cobwebs of five years past. 

His old room. The nights he had spent here were the best of his life, and some of his worst. 

It was better than Fhirdiad, at least. 

And he was logical enough, in that moment, to speak up. “I need food.”

Byleth knew that he didn’t want to leave this room. It would hurt him even more to return to the dining hall. He stared at the dusty bed as she walked past him, the scent of lavender filling his nose as she reached for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

And she would. Byleth was trustworthy, one of the only ones he could trust even for a second. 

As she left, Glenn grimaced across the room, “She won’t come back.”

She might, he reminded himself with a deep breath, she just might. 

“But why would she?” Glenn laughed bitterly, “you’ve pushed her away so many times already. You don’t even deserve to breathe her air!”

You’re right, Glenn. He was always right. 

Dimitri deflated. He closed his eyes as the room spun, and spun, twirling him around in it’s watery arms until he felt like vomiting. His heart rang in his ears, and his knees shook with exhaustion. 

He had relied on the crest of Blaiddyd to get him through this for so long. He had relied on his stamina to keep himself awake so he wouldn’t have nightmares. He had relied on his willpower when he didn’t feel like eating. He had relied on himself for so long, it was too uncomfortable to begin relying on Byleth. Even if she wanted him to. 

He stood. He stumbled across the room and opened the door. “I’m leaving,” he informed an arrogant hallucination of Glenn, “she shouldn’t have to deal with me. I need to leave.”

“Don’t die on your way there!”

He would try not to. He felt very close to it, and had not eaten in so long. He wasn’t better, he was worse. He was so much worse after their last conversation, and nobody could do anything to help him. 

Back to the chapel, he stumbled. Back to his comfort zone, where Lambert waited with open arms and harmful whispers. 

He took to the shadows so nobody would see him. He didn’t want to be seen, and he didn’t want to face Byleth.

That night, he slept. He finally slept, and it was nightmarish. Twisted faces screamed at him from the depths of his mind, and his stomach cramped with hunger even in his nightmares. 

He slept, but could not rest. He slept simply for the sake of staying alive, but he was still tired. He awoke the next morning, alone, with a plate of fresh food waiting beside him on the floor. 

Confused and nauseated, he pushed himself up to inspect his surroundings. The night had been a blur, stumbling through the shadows from his old dorm and back to the chapel. He had collapsed on the floor, and slept on the cold marble all night. 

Without shame, he devoured the food. He was unaware of the pain he caused, and couldn’t take a moment to care. 

Byleth arrived like a silent wind. Dimitri took no notice as he chewed on the bacon, staring at the plate in wonder - when did food get so good? There was no taste, but the satisfaction was there nonetheless. Perhaps it was simply his body pushing him to survive, the betrayal of his own cells. 

Byleth’s heels clacked on the marble as she approached. She stared passively, “Dimitri.”

Freezing mid bite, he looked up. Through his tangled hair, he watched her stare down at him. She was cold, blank, the look she wore when they first met. It was not a look he missed seeing. 

Now that she had his attention, her chin lifted in acknowledgement. “You can’t escape from my love.”

Such a cryptically _stupid_ sentence. He nearly snorted at the dramatism of it all - ignoring his own usual dramatics. “Your love?”

“Yes,” she whispered as she knelt in front of him, hands resting lazily between her legs. She stared like a snake hypnotizing a mouse, and Dimitri felt uncomfortable being the mouse in the situation. He continued to chew on the meat as he watched her with an expression of confusion. She went on, “We’re going to be a normal couple. I think that’ll help you.”

Immediately, he scoffed, “I don’t need your hel-”

“Shhh,” her fingers rested on his lips, a dangerous look on her face, “just eat, and think about it. Dima, nobody’s going to judge you if you recover, I promise.”

It wasn’t the judgement of humans he feared. 

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she pleaded quietly, calmly, “I’ll march to Enbarr, I’ll lend you my strength. Just… show me you love me.”

She knew he did. What else was he to do? He stared, confused and a bit shocked. Byleth only smiled serenely in a way that took his breath away. 

Dimitri was never sure of much. He had not been sure of his parent’s killers. He had not been sure of himself, his own mental state. His entire country had never been sure of it’s economy. Now, he once again was unsure. He was entirely too unsure of why he was agreeing, why he nodded and gazed at his wife with determination. It wasn’t eagerness, and it wasn’t excitement. 

It was an absolute lack of care, at that moment. Perhaps it was hunger, perhaps it was a nonconscious yearning. 

“Fine. I’ll… try.” 

It was all he could offer. Byleth smiled and patted his head like a dog. “Thanks, love. Meet me in the gardens for our date later!”

He scowled as she stood up and turned away. “Date?”

“Date.” She confirmed over her shoulder, “With me, your wife. We’re going on a romantic date. And _then_ we’ll head for Enbarr.”


	8. The Trials of Dimitri A. Blaiddyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bangs my fist on the table* filler chapter filler chapter filler chapter!

_I've got my heart on backwards_

_I spend my only days with you_

_I've got my dreams standing tall_

_I wonder if she has a clue_

_\- 'Sometimes' Goth Babe_

Another cup shattered. Another frustrated hiss, followed by a scowl that could topple nations. Two gazes flickered to meet each other across the table, linking over the tower of jelly filled scones. 

Byleth wasn’t sure just how many times she had to insist that it was fine. She wasn’t sure just how often she should reassure, when his guard was so high it could reach the clouds. Too many times in one afternoon had she informed him ‘it’s fine’ and swept up the mess of ceramic shards. And _far_ too many times had he ignored her, scowled, and been caught cursing himself under his breath. 

How dramatic, she thought. _How_ _dramatic_ to curse one’s existence over a shattered tea cup. The idea occurred that, perhaps, it was because there were _five_ broken tea cups in the trash bin, and Dimitri’s patience with himself was shortened by each, and every, snap of the delicate handle. 

At least he was trying. 

That simple fact alone was enough to make her smile. Byleth was not the type to grin ear to ear, but she felt that she could _become_ the type of Dimitri kept this up. She might even skip for joy at some point. 

He swiped the shards off the table with a quick wave of his hand. He caught the debris with his other palm, and dumped it into the small trashcan beside his chair. Byleth watched with glee, “You’re very fastidious today.”

Dimitri had torn his eyes away from her moments ago, and refused to meet them again. He nudged the trash can away and huffed, “I’m trying.”

He was trying. He was trying, and he admitted it. Byleth easily could’ve melted into a puddle on the ground with the effect his words had on her. Every inch of her seemed to tingle in sheer, unadulterated _affection_. 

“I know.” 

Determinedly, he continued to avoid her gaze. He had no desire to see that look of love, the attention and the sincerity in her eyes. A normal man would be warmed with how her voice dripped with sugary endearment, yet it only proved to be the opposite effect for him. He grew colder than ever. 

“I don’t even want tea,” he reminded gruffly, hands drumming on his thighs under the table, “I’ll just sit here.”

“And do what?”

“Wait for you to let me leave.”

Her smile dropped, “You can leave anytime, Dima. You’re not a prisoner.”

He felt like it. Yet, whether that was her fault, or his, he wouldn’t admit. 

Dimitri looked up as she set her teacup down with a clink upon the ceramic. There were no cups left besides hers, and he would break that one as well. Byleth ignored his stare as she reached for a cookie and broke it in half. 

“You know,” she chewed on the end of the cookie, “we might be able to get a special cup made. Something sturdy.”

Nothing would ever be sturdy enough. His father had steel silverware made in the castle, but even they suffered the occasional finger imprint. “No need.”

“Why?” Her eyes widened, head tilting, she looked almost innocent, “Because you think you don’t need food or drink? Won’t you humor me, at least?”

“Aren’t I doing that now?” He bristled at the reminder. 

She swallowed the cookie and wiped her fingers, “I’m sure you’d enjoy our tea times much more if you could at least hold a cup.”

Retrospectively, yes. The flaw in her plan, though, was that Dimitri enjoyed nothing. A steel tea cup would not bring him happiness, nor make him feel better. As frustrating as it was to have to dig tiny ceramic shards from his fingers, he was not unused to life’s complexities brought on by his accursed crest. 

He was trying, he truly was, but he had his limits. “I don’t care.”

Byleth’s eyes flickered to the side, then back to him. “About tea? Or…”

_Her_. 

Dimitri had a heavy tongue and a shredded heart. He was trying, and it felt like it was killing him. “Tea.” Words unsaid, pronunciations of how _goddamn_ _much_ he loved her threatened to spill out from his throat like a broken damn. His nails dug into his palms, a rare moment where he wasn’t wearing gloves. His wedding band caught the light as a regular reminder of his absolute weakness. 

Byleth was an intelligent woman, no matter how much she lacked in interpersonal intelligence. She stared with owl eyes. She could always see right through him, and he nearly forgot how much he hated that. 

“You don’t care about tea,” she spared him the acknowledgement of his implication, “You _used_ to care about tea.”

He looked up, scowling, “I used to care about a lot of things.”

Another wretched eye roll. His affection filtered away through the newfound annoyance. She popped another piece of the cookie in her mouth and chewed, “You’re so dramatic.”

Dimitri wouldn’t wait to correct her. She knew him well, but she often forgot that _he_ knew her even better. “I’m trying.”

“Yeah,” Byleth caught herself, grimacing and seeming to shrink in her seat, “I know.” 

She knew that he was trying. She knew that it wasn’t easy for him to sit in the sun, in public, where servants and soldiers passed with curious eyes. Even with the newly acquired Areadbhar at his side, he still felt vulnerable. His hand rested on the lance as he eyed the overgrown bushes besides him. 

It was the date Byleth had insisted upon, and the two managed to keep the peace for quite a long time. He could catch the confusion in his wife’s eyes, but knew that she would be too pleasantly surprised to question his behavior. 

He, personally, was too distracted with forcing himself to not act like an absolute animal. Grunting in annoyance, he reached out to grab a scone. The crumbs stuck to his fingers as he bit into one end and chewed. 

Byleth watched him. She always watched him, and he was always much too aware of her eyes. As he swallowed, her smile grew, “Good?”

“The texture’s fine.” He flicked the crumbs off his fingers. 

“May I ask something?”

No. She could not, because it would be something big, and something he would struggle to answer. Lambert was quiet in that moment, and Dimitri was taking the peace to recover from a headache throbbing behind his eyes. 

He felt like a chained dog. Just one pull, and the chain would snap, and he’d say something hurtful to Byleth for the millionth time. He’d already broken five of her tea cups. Gulping, he managed to strangle out, “No.”

Unperturbed, Byleth ignored him, “Why’re you here?”

He wouldn’t allow himself a second to mull over his response, “Because you told me to be.”

“So now you just follow my orders without question?”

“No,” he scowled at the accusation, the chain was growing thinner, “I’m here for a reason that you _know_ , but won’t say.”

“Hm?”

“You want me to say it,” the scowl deepened, “just so you can get some sick kick from beating me down.”

“The only person beating you down is you.”

His fist curled. He tensed. “No. You’re poking a beast, Byleth, and you know it.”

“I’m right, though,” she raised her brows and lifted her tea cup, eyes staring at him over the rim, “what do you gain from not admitting that you care for someone? To care for someone is to have power, Dima,” she set the cup down and lifted her chin, “You can’t go through this world alone. And you especially can’t _win_ this war alone.”

“Oh,” a bark of a laugh escaped before he could stop it, “so now you’re an expert on life? Now you know what I need? Yes, just hug me, Byleth,” he leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table and digging his fingers in, “one hug and a kiss and all my problems are gone! Right?”

She darkened, “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I’ll tell you, just because I know you won’t shut up until I do-”

“This is really an odd way to tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” Dimitri spoke lightly, making fun of her, “I _care_ about you. I’m literally doing the bare minimum to keep you around because it’s _terrifying_ to imagine my life without you. This is harder for me than you’ll ever know-”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” sharply, he put up a hand to silence her, “every touch from you burns, every time you’re around I can’t breathe-”

“Because I take your breath away with my beauty?”

“Because every inch of my body wants to _kill_ something, and I don’t want you to see that. It’s disgusting, Byleth,” he hissed, sitting back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair, “I’m barely holding on right now, and it’s only because you asked me to.”

He never would’ve guessed that speaking would tire him out so much. He used to speak so fluently, so beautifully, and now to simply say ‘I care about you’ punched the air from his lungs. He ignored Byleth, glaring at the bushes beside him as if they’d done him a personal wrong. 

She soaked him in. It was only a mere few seconds of silence, yet it lingered like a year. Her voice was soft as she replied, “Thank you.” 

He felt choked as he heaved a sigh and went on, “It makes it so much harder when you poke, and prod, and push for me to tell you my _feelings_ ,” he hissed the word, “I shouldn’t have had to say any of that, you know it all already.”

“Yes, but,” she held up a correcting finger, “It’s not a crime to ask for reassurance.”

The chain continued to break. He could feel the tugging in his stomach, a rope threatening to snap. “I’m not here to reassure you, I’m here to kill Edelgard.”

“Yes, well,” she nodded slowly, “you can murder the Emperor with your wife and loved ones at your side. Won’t that be nice?”

He was never sarcastic until he met her. He scowled, sitting back in his chair, “Splendid.”

“Isn’t it?”

It wasn’t. 

Dimitri’s comfort zone was the size of a peanut. It took very little for him to travel outside of it, and Byleth seemed to enjoy yanking him from his safety. She was just as sick as him, taking a sort of joy in testing his patience. 

Dimitri supposed that he should be used to such things by then. Byleth had been like that even five years prior when he was much more healthy, he simply had a worse reaction in his current state. There was nothing pleasant about his mood, about the cheerful twitter of birds in the trees, about the vibrant color of the grass and flowers. He could’ve done without them.

He watched her watch a bird. She was staring over his shoulder at a tree. They remained in their separate worlds while silence fell between them. 

It was comfortable for Byleth, yet distressing for Dimitri. Being unused to silence, he could only shift awkwardly in his seat. Lambert and Glenn had been quiet for an hour or so, and the chittering of the birds was much too loud and grating against his ears. He as grateful that Byleth wasn’t watching him any longer, yet the curious eyes of the dining hall staff lingered on him as they passed by. A lone soldier sauntered pass, eyeing him with a complete lack for subtlety. Dimitri sent him a dark glance, a warning, that had the soldier narrowing his eyes. 

“Asshole thinks I’m up to something,” he muttered to Byleth, drawing her out of her comfortable reverie, “this is why I don’t leave the chapel.”

She blinked, “So you’re self conscious?”

He looked at her, “I’m obviously unwanted. Nobody wants a monster sitting in their garden.”

“How kind of you to think of their feelings!” She rested her hand on his, making the anxiety churning in his stomach raise higher, “We can leave if you like.”

The suggestion of leaving managed to provide some semblance of comfort, yet he tingled under her touch. He snatched his hand away sharply, “I’ll go back alone.”

“No,” she insisted softly, “I want to spend time with you.”

It would be time wasted, yet he wouldn’t tell her how to waste her own life. If she wanted to be around a monster then that was her own series of bad choices. Grunting in acknowledgement, he stood from his seat, the legs of the chairs making an ugly scraping noise against the stone as he pushed it back. 

Byleth pushed herself up, watching him. “You only took one bite from your food, do you want me to grab something else?”

“No.”

She huffed, “I’m not leaving this here,” grabbing a plate, she piled the sweets atop each other in a wobbly tower, “and you need to eat more.”

“You’re obsessed with my eating.”

“I’m simply obsessed with _you_.” A correction with a smirk, earning only a dark stare from the prince. As Byleth averted her attention back to the sweets, his shoulders loosened and he shifted on his feet. The discomfort tingling through his veins grew larger, and hotter, until he felt as if he might choke.

Not waiting for Byleth, he turned and stalked across the grass. She hurried to catch up, as he ignored the stares from passersby. Winding around the columns to the courtyard, the Knights Hall called out to him from his left. 

He allowed it a glance. Byleth followed his eyes, “Remember that time we-”

Kissed each other until neither of them could breath and then sat in front of the fireplace at 2 a.m. - he pushed the thought aside and continued his walk before she could finish. He didn’t want to hear it said aloud, afraid that the acknowledgement of such sweet times would prove they never existed. 

Byleth’s words trailed as she watched his retreating back. Sighing, she quickened her pace to keep at his heels, where she found herself so often as of late. 

She held a hand on the tower of scones held in front of her. Dimitri strode quickly, long legs surpassing her own while making his way to the chapel. It felt a bit like being a dog on a leash, to be dragged behind him at a pace she could never match. Slowly, her steps slowed, and Dimitri walked ahead of her. 

Taking a breath, she finally stopped. Dimitri kept on, his halted wife continuing unnoticed behind him. He disappeared around a corner, and was finally out of sight. 

Byleth glanced at the scones. She and Mercedes had made them just the day earlier, and he’d only taken a single bite. Yet, to expect him to enjoy _any_ food was far fetched, and she had to keep her expectations within check. 

It was an empty feeling, standing in the courtyard in front of the ruined classrooms with sticky hands. Rodrigue milled around the benches with Sylvain, both of them eyeing her with curious glances. 

She simply stared ahead where Dimitri had just been. Byleth had never been too aware of her facial expressions, and quickly adjusted herself as she noticed the men watching. She popped back to reality and straightened up, sending them a reassuring smile. Rodrigue only raised a dark brow. 

Embarrassed, Byleth turned around, hand still on her scones, and made her way to the Blue Lions class. The sound of someone following behind reached her ears as she stepped inside and set the plate down on a desk. It was the desk Ashe used to always sit at, now abandoned and dusty. Rodrigue followed her in with his hands folded behind his back. 

“Are you okay?”

Byleth looked up, “Oh, yes. No problem.”

“You just looked…”

“Stupid? Blank? Angry?” She raised a brow, “That’s just my face.”

He huffed a fatherly laugh, dripping with concern, “Tired.”

“I am.”

“I know. We all are.” 

A tick of silence. She wiped at her hands and stared at the dust particles floating in the air. The Lions classroom was on the end of the building, and had the privilege of having windows at the front and sides of the rooms. Byleth always enjoyed watching the dust bounce through the light streams like fairies, so content and peaceful. 

Rodrigue felt more awkward than she did, and cleared his throat to grab her attention. “Did he say something?”

“No,” she spoke without looking to him, “he was just trying, and he did really well.”

“Why’d he look as if he was running away from something?”

She closed her eyes, “He’s just not used to this.”

Rodrigue spoke slowly, “He would never act like that around anybody else.”

“Like what?” Her eyes opened to catch the Fraldarius staring past her shoulder with a dreamy, fatherly smile. She wondered if there was ever a time when the man _wasn’t_ reassuring and kind. 

It took him a moment to answer. There was a pause for him to muse and tilt his head, eyes flickering around the cobwebs in the corner of the ceilings. Finally, he answered slowly, “He’s calm around you-”

“That’s not true-”

“He is,” he corrected firmly, “he’s… I don’t know, nicer. You wouldn’t see him going to the garden for tea for anybody else.”

What he said was true, but the intent was unknown to him. She leveled him with a flat, sarcastic stare, “I just nagged him into saying yes.”

“And who else could do that?” 

Anybody, if they cared enough. Byleth shifted under his gaze as Rodrigue drew further, smiling now, “You’re being humble-”

“I’ve never been humble a day in my life.”

“-he’s in love with you, Byleth.” 

Dimitri had said as much. _‘I’m literally doing the bare minimum to keep you around because it’s terrifying to imagine my life without you.’_

She flinched under Rodrigue’s knowing gaze. 

“He’s just having a hard time right now.”

“I know…” a twiddling finger dragging a smooth line across the dust, a bitten lip and a humble stare to the ground. She refused to meet his eyes, “I just miss who we used to be.”

“I don’t think that man is ever coming back,” Rodrigue stepped closer, taking a scone off her plate and tearing a bite off the end. He chewed, and swallowed quickly in a manner not befitting one of nobility, it almost reminded her of Felix. “The Dimitri you met five years ago was tortured by the constant reminder for vengeance. He teetered on the cliff, and his exile was just what pushed him off.”

She paused, taking his words in like a soft rain upon her skin. “How do you think he’ll be when he recovers?” It would always remain a matter of ‘when’, never ‘if’. She refused to think in ifs. 

Rodrigue was like minded. He nodded in approval, “Truthfully, I can’t say. We’ll just need to keep holding out.”

She’d been holding out for months now, but light filtered through the grey crowds. He was trying. He had tried. He only broke five teacups in the process. 

“I miss Dedue,” Byleth mused as she and Rodrigue walked together out of the classroom, carrying her plate to the kitchen, “He’d be able to handle this so much better.”

“I don’t know about better,” he shrugged, “but differently, yes. Perhaps he’ll show up soon?”

Byleth sent him a surprised glance over her shoulder, “He’s dead, Rodrigue.”

The man only blinked. Byleth furrowed her brows and continued walking as he followed languidly. He kept his hands behind his back and looked to the ground, following her, “Is that what Dimitri thinks?”

“Yes, of course,” she frowned, “he saw him sacrifice himself.”

“Ah, well… I won’t raise any hopes, then, if he’s so confident. I’d hate for them to be dashed.”

“What do you mean?”

A gaggle of priestesses passed by, laughing among themselves. Byleth stepped to the side to allow them to pass, Rodrigue following suit. On this Saturday, the monastery was abuzz with the joy of reunion. Once the group was out of earshot, he answered her in hushed tones, “I’ve just had a suspicion for quite a while.”

“A suspicion?”

He ignored her skepticism, “There was no body ever found, not even Dedue’s. Cornelia didn’t make a fuss about it because she wanted the people to have no hope, but I was there. I saw the whole thing, and Dedue was still breathing when they took him away. To not have a dead body to show? That’s suspicious.”

He sounded like Dimitri when talking of the Tragedy of Duscur. His eyes lit up with conspiratory excitement, and his mouth twitched at the hint of a smile. She could see where Dimitri had gotten his detective nature from. 

Yet, to think that Dedue was alive. She stared at the ground in disbelief, “I have trouble putting my faith into a hunch. If he was still alive, I’d think he’d have shown by now.”

“Yes, well,” Rodrigue pulled back and shrugged, “I haven’t been able to find him. I’m hesitant to tell Dimitri, I don’t want to get his hopes up and then have them come crashing.”

Byleth didn’t like to keep secrets from Dimitri, but she could understand Rodrigue’s worry. She merely looked away, staring at the jelly center of the pastries on the plate. The Fraldarius patriarch watched with hesitant eyes. 

Birds chirped above. The day was finally beginning to darken, with the orange sunset beyond the mountain range falling to cover the world. Nearby, a laugh echoed across the stone and reached the spot where Byleth and Rodrigue stood. 

It was he who broke the beat of silence. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, “There’s one last thing I wanted to talk about, actually.”

He had her attention, “Yes?”

“It’s… the matter of, uh,” he shifted and gulped, “Dimitri’s hygiene.”

She froze, “What about it?”

“He smells.”

“I didn’t smell anything.”

“You must be used to it then,” his nose crinkled in disgust, “He’d get less bad looks if he took a bath.”

“I’m not going to force my husband to take a bath like a little kid,” she deadpanned, “Plus, I think the dirt on his cheek is cute.”

Rodrigue nodded slowly, “Yes, it _is_ cute, but his smell isn’t.”

“I really don’t smell anything!”

“Do you not have a nose?”

“I have a nose!” She defended with a squeak, “But I don’t smell him!”

“Well,” Rodrigue allowed a breathy, loose chuckle, “then that explains it.”

“What?”

“You smell too.”

Horror. Absolute, unabashed horror. Byleth’s lips parted in shock as she stared. It was as if she’d just been smacked. Gulping, she stuttered, “I-I do not... _smell_. You are mistaken.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to break the news,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I actually asked Annette to speak to you about it. I’ve been getting complaints.”

“I-I…” she felt like laughing through the horror, “I can’t believe this.”

“I think you both just spent too much time in the forest with each other.” 

“ _What_?”

Rodrigue sighed heavily, “He didn’t seem bothered by _your_ smell either. How often did you bathe?”

She scowled. Hissing through her teeth, she looked up at him, “The water was very cold. Excuse me for not wanting to fall ill from cold water.”  
  


“Well,” Rodrigue gestured to the sauna in the distance, “we have warm water here.”

That they did. Defeated, Byleth pushed the plate of food into Rodrigue’s unwilling hands. She yanked back, and turned on her heel to stomp away towards the chapel to gather her husband. Behind her, she could hear Rodrigue laugh, “I’m just looking out for you, your highness!”

Her highness. The title only proved to deepen her scowl. 

Dimitri waited for her at the head of the chapel, arms crossed over his chest and lips moving to speak to someone she couldn’t see. Byleth approached from the middle of the aisle.

For once, he was facing away from the rubble of the ruined altar. The fur from his cloak on his shoulder managed to cover the hole he had punched months earlier. Byleth’s eyes lingered on what little of it she could see. 

Dimitri watched her approach. His lips halted mid sentence while his gaze became focused on her. He was leaning against the pile, ankles crossed over each other. “Byleth.”

It was more of a greeting than she usually received, yet she was far too irritable to appreciate it. She plopped heavily into a pew and huffed, mimicking his crossed arms and glare, “Dimitri.”

“Something ails you.”

She sat up and sniffed the air. Nothing, just mold and grass from outside. Frowning, she slumped again, “Do I smell?”

He grunted, “No.”

“Rodrigue said that I smell.”

Dimitri’s eye narrowed, but his lips turned up into a mocking smile. “Rodrigue is a snake.”

“Dima,” she shifted uncomfortably, “No, Rodrigue is human. Please don’t start any weird delusions-”

“Quiet,” his scowl could’ve toppled nations, “I mean that Rodrigue is clever.”

“Oh.”

“Why did he tell you this?”

“We were talking about you not taking a bath, and-”

“Ah,” he never used to interrupt her so flagrantly, the newfound habit grated at her nerves. He looked up at the crumbling ceiling in thought, “He’s trying to trick you into making me do something.”

“Maybe I just smell.”

“No,” he frowned darkly, “he wants to use you to make me put my guard down,” his hand gripped Areadbhar like a lifeline, “to make me _vulnerable_.”

“Dima, as cute as that dirt smear on your cheek is, it won’t kill you to take a bath.”

“I don’t _need_ to take a bath to kill Edelgard!”

Back to this. She groaned and slumped back against the pew, rolling her eyes. Dimitri turned around and clutched his relic to his chest. “I’ll kill her, and nobody can stop me.”

“Do you have rabies or something?” 

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dark, “Hm?”

“Hydrophobia is a side effect of rabies. Was it that raccoon we found last week?”

“No,” he had just barely kept her from trying to feed the wild animals like some sort of forest princess. Heaving a deep, irritated sigh, he looked at the rubble again, “I’m just busy.”

“Talking to your father?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she rested her cheek in her palm, elbow on her knee and leaning forward to watch him, “I won’t force you to bathe.”

“Good.”

A beat of silence. She pursed her lips, “But, I mean, it would be nice, right? Rodrigue said there were complaints, and…” she subtly raised her arm, “I’m paranoid I might actually smell too.”

A grunt. “I’m busy.”

“We can get some of that soap Mercie made,” she closed her eyes dreamily, “the one with the lavender? And I’ll lather it all over yo-”

“I’m busy.”

“Busy staring at the wall!”

“Go away.”

With a groan, she went. As she stomped away from him, she turned over her shoulder to yell, hating how high pitched her voice sounded, “If you need me, I’ll be in the sauna!”  
  


She knew he wouldn’t need her, but she liked to pretend. 

The bathhouse, located behind the sauna, was empty when Byleth arrived. She took a private room, and revelled in the humidity clinging to her skin. As she sat on the bench and pulled her hair back, she took a deep breath. 

The world outside was growing quieter with the impact of night. Her stomach rumbled anxiously, as all she had for dinner was scones and tea. She half expected to charm Dimitri over tea so well that they’d go grab dinner, yet she cursed herself in her lack of foresight. Of course he didn’t want to go get dinner, he didn’t want to be on that date with her in the first place. 

She frowned, pulling off her jacket and tossing it aside. Off came the boots, set neatly by the bench. In front of her, the small heated pool churned against the steam rolling through the air. She tugged at her tights while musing over Dimitri’s response. 

“Well, of course he wouldn’t want to be here,” she reminded herself, “he nearly passed out last time we came here.”

Five years ago, with Byleth dragging him out of their private bathing room and leaving him in the hallway as she scrambled to put on clothes and act as if they weren’t in there together. _“I just found him lying here!”_ She had lied to Seteth, _“I think it got too hot for him!”_

The following medical checkups were embarrassing, and Manuela insisted upon Byleth being there to explain what happened. Once Dimitri had woken up, he stuttered his way through an explanation, while Byleth glared at him over the physician’s shoulder. 

It was all very innocent, of course. Towels never came off, and Byleth had added too much water to the steamer pot. She tossed her tights aside and frowned, once again speaking to herself through the fog of the room, “He can’t even touch me without freaking out, I don’t know why he’d want to bathe with me.”

She didn’t know what she was thinking - what _Rodrigue_ was thinking! Dimitri would much rather dunk in a cold river than be in a bathhouse with a pushy, arrogant, sarcastic woman that would force him to stay still so she could pick leaves out of his hair. Perhaps he liked the leaves, perhaps he enjoyed the dirt underneath his nails. Perhaps everybody was being far too judgemental, and just needed to get used to it like she was!

She nodded to herself. Yes, they were just too judgemental. She would accept whatever Dimitri chose to smell like. 

Sighing, she grabbed the end of her shirt and pulled it up over her face. With the humidity of the room, her fingers were clammy as she gripped the fabric, losing her hold on it. The shirt remained over her eyes as she tried to bend her arms and find the end of the hem to hold it once more. 

“This is what I get for wearing tight clothing,” she cursed, finally grabbing the hem and pulling it up further. She moved slowly, so as to not catch her brooch in her hair - it would pull terribly if it did, and was a major point of annoyance in her life. 

A squeak of a doorknob, a pair of shuffling feet. A slam of a door. Byleth froze. The shirt remained over her eyes, arms sticking up as she glanced towards the sound. All she felt was sweaty, sticky, and half naked, looking incredibly silly with her shirt over her head. 

Damn the brooch, she was being peeped on! Frustrated, she huffed, “I know you’re there, pervert!” Yanking the shirt up - it did catch her hair, and it did hurt - and throwing it at the intruder, she yelled, “It’s rude to walk in on someone!”  
  


Dimitri caught her shirt in his hands. He gripped it, gaze lingering on her with furrowed brows. His mouth was set in a straight line, and eye colored with disbelief. His shoulders were slumped, and he was dressed far too warmly for the heat of the sauna. 

The Blaiddyds stared at each other. His eye began to trail down her neck, yet instantly snapped back to her face. His lips parted. For the first time in a very long time, Byleth had caught him dumbfounded. 

Immediately, her hands covered her chest. She pushed her back against the wall and folded her legs against her stomach to shield as much of herself as she could. With her stockings gone she was only in her shorts and bra, but it was more than Dimitri had ever seen. 

A beat of silence ticked by. The steamer pot let out another sigh and puff of smoke, making the water ripple peacefully again. The entire sauna, the entire world, seemed quiet as they simply _stared_. 

Byleth’s arms were tight against her chest. He was still holding her shirt. 

Her stomach churned as she stared, “You came.”

“Yes,” as if remembering himself, he suddenly dropped the shirt to his feet. Then, flinching, he bent down to pick it up once more. He held it out to her between his thumb and index finger. 

Byleth loosened one arm to hesitantly grab it from him. Once it was in her possession, she sent him a tight frown, “Turn?”

Stiffly, he did so. His cloak brushed against the stone as he shifted and faced the door. Byleth kept her eyes on him while untangling her limbs and sitting normally. “Why’d you come?”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the discomfort dripping from every word. “I’m trying.” It was gruff, dark, and quiet. 

She slipped her shirt back on and pulled it down to cover her stomach. “I know, Dima. And thank you for that.”

“I’ll…” he cleared his throat, she thought she could hear the scowl in his voice, “Find another room.”

“Are there none available?”

“No, this is the only one being used.”

“So you came into mine?”

He gulped. His fingers stretched and clenched, over and over at his side. She watched him stare down the door intensely, “I thought that was what you wanted.”

“I…” Byleth had no idea what she wanted, “I want to help you try.”

It was hard for him, she could tell. He shuffled around to face her, face forcefully blank. She was decent to look at now, yet his gaze avoided hers. 

“I refuse to use the lavender soap.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohohoho ! they'll be Lost In The Sauce soon (the sfw fluffy wholesome sauce because I'm baby)


	9. The Reunion of The Blaiddyds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I added opening lyrics to each chapter, because I love theme songs and pretty prose and I would tack songs onto every single fic I write if I could. (Also note how I use an ounce of self control and don't use florence welch lyrics for every single chapter like I am so inclined to)
> 
> Enjoy!

_I'm not together and you know it's true_

_My bits all wander in the trees_

_and if I ever seem a little strange,_

_would you excuse me please?_

_\- 'Greens and Blues' Pixies_

Byleth never thought bathing with one’s spouse could be so…

_So_.

_So_ _unromantic_. 

What, exactly, is the opposite of romantic? Friendship? Enemies? What would be an antonym? Byleth mused of this as she leaned against the wall of the bathtub. She sunk lower, letting the water overtake her shoulders and spread warmth across her neck. Antonyms. Romance, and the complete opposite of such. That was this bath. 

Humdrum? Boring? Practical? She frowned further. 

Across from her, Dimitri glared. His glare could’ve bored a hole in her if he truly tried, yet she avoided his gaze. It wasn’t out of embarrassment, more so being Byleth’s naturally zoned out way about herself. It had been charming to the prince at one time. She could remember how he told her so sweetly ‘I think it’s lovely, like your head is in the clouds’. 

Now that she thought about it, that sounded more like an insult. A very backhanded insult. Now, her glare was directed at Dimitri himself, who returned it with a newfound fervor. 

It was so unromantic that Sylvain would’ve been disgusted at the very sight. So unromantic that it would’ve made Byleth laugh if she wasn’t so irritated. There, husband and wife sat, on the opposite sides of a bathtub, both still wearing some measure of clothing, _glaring_ at each other. Byleth’s mind racked to find more descriptions for the word. 

_Platonic_. That was a good one. 

Dimitri’s glare furthered, “What’s that look for?” His voice seemed too loud for the serenity of the room. It was too gruff, too unused and too deep, something just the slightest bit different from the voice he had when they met. He was a man now, of course, his voice was bound to deepen with age. 

Byleth fell back down to Fodlan and looked at him. He was dim through the golden light of the candle and the steam from the waters. Sweat glued his hair to the sides of his head, while he pushed his bangs back with his fingers. Heavenly. Heavenly and _absolutely_ _human_. 

How he could think himself a monster was beyond her. 

She offered an insatiable smile, “Romance.”

He retorted with an irrepressible eyeroll, “Typical.”

“Well, really,” she sunk further into the waters until her chin was covered, “I’m thinking about the _opposite_ of romantic. What do you think?”

“I don’t.”

“Think?”

“About this.”

Touche. She wouldn’t expect as much from him. Yet, he was her husband, and had no choice but to listen to her thoughts. “I truly think this is the most unromantic date I’ve ever been on.”

“I had no knowledge of it being a date.”

“Just imagine it, love,” she gestured a hand to the flickering candle in the corner, “the mood lighting, the steam, the _skin_. It has potential, Dima, and you’re wasting it.”

The accusation flared his passion. He sat up further, shoulders visible above the water now. They were strong and broad and covered in scars. His face shined with sweat as he scowled, “What do you expect me to do? I’m only here because nobody will stop bothering me about it.”

What _did_ she expect him to do? She didn’t want his affection if it was obliged, not that he would do such a thing in the first place. Yet, his words echoed in her mind, _‘I thought that was what you wanted’._

It’s why he came into the only bathing room being used. It’s why he followed her to the bath house in the first place. It’s why he was there, across from her, actually taking care of his hygiene.

For once, he thought of her. She couldn’t let his expectations down. 

The water rippled as she moved across the tub. It was a large square cut out in the ground, surrounded by smooth marble, with a steamer pot at the side. Waves splashed against the walls while she made her way towards him. 

He looked at her as if she was about to grab his neck and strangle him. Instead, she reached for the shampoo bottle over his shoulder. 

“You know,” she squirted the concoction into her open palm, “usually married couples have seen each other naked by now.”

It was the most he’d ever seen of her, despite her still wearing a measure of clothing. Dimitri’s shoulders relaxed as he looked away, “It was your decision to stay dressed.”

It was, and she didn’t regret it. “I don’t want it like this,” her voice was a whisper as she drew closer, “turn around for me?”

Slowly, he did. He wore his boxers under the water, while she wore her underwear as well. The closest Dimitri had ever gotten in the past - back when they actually kissed and touched - was the day she wore that skimpy summer uniform. It saddened her that he couldn’t appreciate the moment fully now, but it was exactly why she had set her boundaries. This wasn’t the time, and neither of them were ready. Especially him. 

With his back to her, she rubbed the shampoo into his hair. He sunk lower into the water while she leaned over him. The scars on his back were from years ago, burns and cuts from the tragedy that she knew he wouldn’t want acknowledged. Tactfully, she kept her eyes on her work and ignored the odd patterns marring his skin. 

Her finger brushed against the band of his eyepatch. Halting, she leaned back, “Can you take it off?”

Once again, his shoulders tensed. She watched as he seemed to ready himself for an attack, as if expecting her to stab him in the back. He gulped and glanced at her through his wet hair, “Work around it.”

So she would. She ran her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp, massaging and digging until his head was fully lathered. The heat of the bath felt good against her skin, while the candle cast her shadow against the wall in front of her. It was golden, and calming, and she could close her eyes and relax for once. 

Dimitri pulled away once she stopped lathering. Slowly, he dipped under the water and let the shampoo dissolve into white foam on the surface. He re-emerged and scrubbed the excess from his hair with slow, steady movements. It was as if he had forgotten how to bathe, or had not done it properly in a very long time. 

Respectfully, Byleth kept her eyes away. Her hair floated around her chest where the tips dipped into the water, gathering soap and shampoo suds around them. Byleth kept her eyes on the rippling waves while Dimitri finished rinsing his hair out. 

He sighed and retreated to the far corner of the tub. Byleth finally raised her eyes to meet his, “I think about a lot of stuff, you know.”

His gaze turned flat, “I know.”

She watched as he leaned back and rested his arms on the edge of the bathtub. He looked almost comfortable - as comfortable as he possibly could be.

“I stay up at night and think about you and me,” she popped a soap bubble absently, avoiding his eyes, “I think about my choices. Our choices. I think about what’s right and wrong.”

Silence. The candle burst with it’s tiny golden flame. The steam wafted against her neck like the sweetest of kisses. 

“I think about the future…” softly spoken, a whisper, “I think about you doing something reckless and dying. I think about being a widow. I think about how goddamn stupid I am.”

Dimitri merely raised a brow.

Her voice grew louder, more distressed. It bounced off the walls and echoed back into her ears as a reminder of her weakness. “You didn’t want me, Dima. I know you didn’t. Yet, I’m so goddamn pushy, and stupid, and I just whine until I get what I want. Well, I got it, and it was so, _so_ unfair to you.”

Now, she could bear to meet his eyes. Finally, _finally_ as her chest died down and her shoulders loosened, she looked at him. 

Still heavenly. Still flat gazed and impassive. His hair still stuck to his head in the most wonderful way. His nose was still straight and beautiful. His jaw was still sharp and defined. His stare still blue and piercing. He was still Dimitri, and nothing she said changed that. The Dimitri she thought to have loved her at one time. 

Byleth could only go on just a bit longer, it was all she had left. “I just thought about _my_ future, not yours. I just thought about what I wanted, not what was best for you. This marriage, this _thing_ we have… I’m just, I-I’m just so sorry.”

She was tripping over her own tongue. She had always been a clumsy speaker, and her time at Garreg Mach had not helped to improve upon that. 

But she was sorry. She’d said it. 

It was time for the guilt to leave. 

“I have a hard time admitting that, too,” she shook her head in disbelief, “I’ve just ignored it for so long, I didn’t want to admit that I was wrong.”

Immediately. So instantly, so unexpectedly, he spoke through the steam. “Wrong about what?”

How could he not have understood her? She lay her heart out before him, yet he still asks her what’s wrong? She scoffed, “Marrying you.”

A raised brow, “So you regret our marriage?”

“N-No!” She waved a frantic hand, splashing water around as she did so, “I regret pressuring you into it! You didn’t want it and I shouldn’t have been so pushy!”

Finally, a flicker of emotion from him. He tensed, with an expression of irritation crossing over his features. A frown etched it’s way onto his lips, “You warned me five years ago that you would propose to me. I remember clearly, you said ‘I’ll give you yours - my ring,” he held up a hand, where the wedding band sat on his bare finger, “‘when you need it the most’.”

“Yes, but-”

“ _I_ went and got the priest.”

“But-”

“I’ve said I love you _at_ _least_ two times!”

“Two times isn’t that muc-”

“How much more do you require to have confidence in this? I may be ill but I am aware of what I’m doing, Byleth.”

Dammit.

Even when delusional and overtaken by revenge, he still had the upper hand.

She narrowed her eyes. He simply narrowed his back, and the couple stared holes into each other. 

“Did you…” Byleth started slowly, carefully, and suspiciously, “need it at that time?”

“I need what I’ve always needed-”

She rolled her eyes, “Revenge-”

“Vengeance.”

“Oh, excuse me. _Vengeance_.”

He stared at her. 

Byleth returned the look with an identical expression of frustration. Slowly, second by second, her face slipped back into neutrality. 

She gazed over his shoulder at the tiles. Condensation pooled in tiny droplets against the walls. She watched one droplet race another behind his head. 

There were parts of herself that she didn’t like to acknowledge. The guilt, the shame, the non-human part that manifested itself in her hair and ears and eyes. The sound of her father’s cry for help as he died. The sound of Dimitri saying his vows. The sound of the soldier she cut down calling the name of his wife. 

The only sound in the room was the soft roll of waves splashing against each other. She closed her eyes and focused on it, rather than the cry for help from the people she couldn’t save. 

At night, they returned. She was not very prone to nightmares, as Sothis and Seiros usually took their places in her mind. Yet, lately, guilt had crept through the cracks in her brain, like a drop of dye in a pool of water. 

“I don’t like to think about it,” she whispered aloud, “so I haven’t said anything yet. I’ve been so stubborn,” she opened her eyes to look at him, “I thought I might help by being your emotional support, but who am I to say that we should be married? Who I am to decide your future for you?”

Slowly, as if ripping himself away, he looked to the side and avoided her eyes. “You are incredibly dense, professor… Who are Lambert and Glenn and Patricia to decide my future?”

“Your… family?”

“Who are _you_?”

She gulped the rock in her throat down, “Byleth.”

“ _What_ are you?”

“An empty doll made for a Goddess.”

“What are you to _me_?”

She furrowed her brows, “An annoyance?”

Dimitri returned his eyes to her now. “Yes. _And_ my wife.” 

He spoke as if he was spitting the words out. It was like poison on his tongue, like a bitter taste he needed to get rid of. The tone was not romantic in the least, yet the words spoke of a future she could glimpse on the horizon. His words told her far more than what needed to be said. 

Her heart began to lift. It was as if Dimitri tied a balloon to it and threw it in the air. She didn’t know she could feel such things in her chest, as nothing beat inside of her. Could an empty chest still swell with affection?

His wife. His wife. _His_ _wife_. The title replayed sweetly in her mind. 

“I believe you,” she reminded, her eyes feeling hot with tears now, “Goddess, I hate emotions. Ever since that day I lost my father I just can’t seem to stop crying.”

He made no move to wipe her tears. He stayed where he was as she rubbed her eyes and hiccuped for air. “I know the feeling.”

He did. He knew better than most. She rubbed at the corner of her eye and blinked away a salty blur, “You said you loved me,” and he kissed her, she couldn’t forget that part even if she wanted to, “did you mean it?”

His eye narrowed. He frowned, “I thought I made it clear then? Just as I did now.”

“I need to make sure,” she moved closer through the water, “sometimes I need reassurance.”

It was natural, how he loosened his arms to wrap around her. The water splashed around their bodies as she drew closer and rested her head against his chest. She was light, floating between his legs, while he held her close. It was habitual, it was instinctual. Her hair stuck wetly against his cheek. 

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he gruffly spoke into her neck, “I told you I had no future to give you.”

“Yet, you still offer one.”

“Not the one you deserve.”

“It’s the one I want.”

Defeated, he sighed and craned his neck backwards. She pulled herself closer in his arms and gave a deep sigh. He watched the tendrils of steam rise up above their bodies.

Peace. If only for a minute. 

****

* * *

Dimitri was covered with blood, and his bath had done nothing for his smell. 

Truthfully, it _had_ done something, but that _something_ was quickly defeated by the traveling, killing, and dirt that mixed with it all. Dirt, Byleth noticed, seemed to pack the blood in deeper, making it even more difficult to get out of Dimitri’s cape when she washed it. 

Felix looked at her with wide, expectant eyes. His brows were raised under his bangs, while he tilted his head as if to say ‘Really?’ 

Yes. Really. Byleth sent him a soft grimace. 

Dimitri was hurt, and refused healing. Byleth and Felix followed at his heels like lost puppies while he carved his way through the battlefield. Areadbhar hung from his hand casually like a child’s toy. 

“The asshole’s just adding to the body count,” Felix grumbled, “You need to keep your boar chained up, Byleth.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved a dismissive hand, “that’s easier said than don- Dimitri _please_ stop!”

Instantly, she was at his side. The blade of his lance dug further into the enemy soldier’s chest, muscles straining and tensing while he pushed it in. Frantically, she put her hands on his arms, “He’s dead, Dima! He’s already dead!”

Through the tendrils of dirty hair, his eye widened. His lips parted as he straightened up and blinked down at the ground. The corpse held his lance up perfectly straight in the air. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Felix scoffed from behind him, “Gods, you’re disgusting.”

Dimitri sent him a disinterested glance over his shoulder. He avoided Byleth’s face entirely, pulling the lance from the corpse and stepping over it as if nothing had even happened. As if he wasn’t so caught up in the heat of battle that he was attacking cadavers on the ground. 

Byleth followed closely. She did not dare to touch him, yet stayed at his side while they walked over the battlefield. “Please let me heal you, Dima, just a little?”

He grunted. She sighed in annoyance. Behind them, Felix watched with disgust coloring his face, “Don’t heal him, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Dimitri snorted, “He’s right.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re agreeing with each other?” In disbelief, she barked a short, humorless laugh, “What world did I step into?”

Felix just wanted to leave. Byleth and Dimitri tended to take the front lines of the battle, along with Gilbert and Sylvain. Felix preferred the second wave where he could face the stronger opponents that had not yet died by then. There was also the benefit of being at Annette’s side, as she usually protected his back with her spells from a distance. 

Today, Rodrigue had commanded him to stay close to the lovely couple, and keep Dimitri from dying. The only way he’d die is utter negligence of small wounds, and refusal to be healed. The entire scene was a circus act. 

Byleth hissed through her teeth, lunging towards her husband with the golden glow of a weak healing spell on her fingertips, “Just let me-”

“Back away!” Dimitri nearly jumped in order to escape her clutches. He was faster than he looked, with how quickly he avoided Byleth’s spell. She lunged towards him again, and he stumbled backwards to retreat. 

It was the only time he’d seen the boar retreat from something, and it was his own wife. How pitiful. 

Felix gave a deep sigh that reached from his head to his toes. Something aggravated and built up over an entire afternoon of watching the Blaiddyds argue. “Stop being fools and get back to fighting!”  
  


Dimitri was far ahead of him. He gave Byleth the coldest shoulder possible and ignored her attempts at healing. Her hands dropped to her waist in defeat while he stalked forward to approach the incoming enemies. 

The slash of a lance. The golden power from the artifact was nearly blinding, a hint at just how strong it could truly be. Dimitri lunged, kicked, and elbowed. He was a force to be reckoned with, and watching him fight was sickening. 

The army had invaded the Great Bridge of Myrddin. The wood and steel of the bridge was painted with blood, and smelled of death. As exciting as the rush of battle was, Felix would never find himself enjoying the onslaught of his senses. Not nearly in the way Dimitri seemed to. 

As Dimitri cut down another three men, an ax cut down the group coming upon him. The ax cut clean and swift, slow and steady. The enemy’s at Dimitri’s back fell without even coming close. 

Byleth looked up from her own battle with a gasp. Her eyes were wide, mouth parted. Dimitri straightened up from his attack stance and looked the newcomer in the face. His chin lifted to allow his hair to fall back, and he stared him down with a critical eye. 

“Dedue.”

Gasps from the other allies around them. Dedue offered a nod, and the most subtle of smiles. 

“It’s good to see you again, your highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed reading then pls leave a comment! It helps me out a lot when I hear feedback <3


	10. The Peace of Byleth Blaiddyd

_ You creep up like the clouds and you set my soul at ease _

_ Then you let your love abound, and you bring me to my knees _

"Shadowboxer" - Fiona Apple  


* * *

_  
“It’s good to see you again, your highness.” _

But was it? Was it _really_ good? How could it _possibly_ be good? 

Dedue stood in front of them, like the tower of strength he’d always been. His body was covered in armor, and his hand he wielded his ax with comfort and confidence so different than five years prior. His gaze was steady. His eyes were clear. He looked more like himself than Byleth had ever seen him before. 

And Dimitri was taken aback in absolute shock.

The battle roared around them. Byleth stood behind Dimitri's arm with her sword drawn, yet her hands felt weak. Her knees shook as she stared at the ghost across from her. Dedue was scarred, but breathing. He was different, but alive. He was glorious, and wonderful, and someone that she never thought she'd see again.

Dimitri's throat bobbed with held back emotions as he took in the sight of his lost friend. He would not miss a beat. He raised his chin, his expression cold, “Dedue.”

Was that all he could bring himself to say? From behind his arm, she directed a sudden glare up to her husband. She was tired, and she was dirty and irritable. Any blood that covered her was merely splatter that came from his own kills. Dedue was followed by a group of men in colors and styles similar to his own, eyeing the bloodied Dimitri and Byleth as if they were trash on the sidewalk. Dedue's own face was a calculated stone as he observed the prince in front of him. 

If Byleth’s heart could beat, it would be racing. To fill the silence, she stepped up to reach out for her former student - his eyes softened as she approached, “Professor-“

“Just Byleth,” she interrupted, “I've had a job change as of late.”

He was so tall that she could barely reach him. She stretched her hands out and stood on her tip toes so her fingers could caress his scarred cheeks, an affirmation that he was real. He closed his eyes and allowed a defeated sigh, “You’ve always been affectionate, professor.”

“You have no idea how much we’ve needed you,” a whisper as she stole a glance at Dimitri, “it’s been hard.”

Dedue had always been good at reading the meaning behind words. Byleth stepped away while he offered a polite nod to Dimitri. The prince merely watched with his cold face and blood covered armor, a sight shocking in of itself. Behind them, the battle raged on. Felix had left moments ago to assist Annette by the harbor. Mercedes and Ashe barely held back a group trying to close in. Byleth’s stomach sparked in anxiety as she watched, her eyes scanning the battlefield for anything she might need to reverse. Next to her, Dimitri kept his eyes on his friend. 

“You were dead.” It was a statement, said with all the confidence of a madman. It was angry and resentful and filled with venom. Byleth wanted so desperately to hold him, though she knew it was not the time. 

Dedue’s expression did not waver, “My brothers helped me,” he glanced at the men he’d arrived with, “While they do not care much for Faerghus either, they know I belong at your side.”

Another heavy gulp that seemed to stick in his throat. Another angry pursing of his lips. Byleth couldn’t take it anymore. 

She found herself reaching for his hand and tangling her fingers among his. Instead of yanking himself away, he returned the affection, and tightened his grip on her. She wondered if he _knew_ that he was holding her hand so openly, so wonderfully, and how angry he would be at himself once he realized.

After a moment, Dimitri could only avert his gaze. He glared at the ground as if it had done him a personal wrong. “Dedue?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

He flickered his eye back to him in the most serious expression she’d seen yet, “ _Never_ give your life for me again.”

It could not possibly be silent with the battle that raged around them, yet an unspoken, quiet understanding passed. Dedue’s nod was solemn, nearly amused in it's nature, “Understood.”

All he received in reply was a disinterested grunt. Tearing his hand away from his wife, he stalked past his long lost friend. He was cold, standoffish, in the search for violence as a distraction. Emotions raged silently while Byleth kept her eyes on him. He made his way towards something much more chaotic. She sent Dedue an apologetic look, "I'm sorry about him."

A sigh, a nod. She chased after her husband, leaving Dedue behind. When a spear flew through the air, aimed at Dimitri's back, she cut it out from it's path. When a sword swiped at him, she kicked the ribs of its owner. When a spell was cast his way, she pushed him down and ignored his incredibly obscene curses. 

But now, when her stress levels were raising with every passing moment of this battle, Dedue returned. He was there, following her, unwavering in the face of danger. 

His brothers had joined the rest of the army, while Dedue himself kept after Byleth in her constant chase after Dimitri. Arrows bounced off his armor, making it easy for him to simply stand in the way of the archers lines of sight, and cut them down with a single swing of his ax.

How Byleth missed him so. 

Dedue and Byleth followed the future King of Faerghus as best they could, side by side as they made sure he was not overtaken too easily by the mobs of enemies he chose to fight. He would never go after someone easy to defeat, he always would choose the most challenging group available. She wondered if her husband even _knew_ that anybody else was around in that moment, when he substituted his newly broken lance for his fist and a sword he found off a corpse. He was resourceful in that way, an entire force of nature. 

It was then, over the chaos and the cries of death, that Dedue yelled to her, “I knew this would happen!”

She couldn’t possibly understand what he meant, especially when she was in the process of dodge a spell. “What?” She yelled back, moving so she stood behind him to avoid another arrow, “That reinforcements would arrive? Or that Dimitri would be…”

That Dimitri would be stomping a mans head in, laughing as he did so? 

“His highness,” a disappointing answer, said lowly under the noise above, “it’s always been there.”

What exactly did he mean? Byleth had always seen something underneath Dimitri’s tight-lipped smiles and barely concealed insomnia, yet she had never expected _this_. 

Dedue saw the confusion bloom on her face. He turned to her as the prince took out the last two brawlers, a moment of rest for anybody that _wasn’t_ bloodthirsty. “Trauma reveals itself in different ways. I have mine,” he looked at the ground, anything besides into her eyes, “his highness has his. It’s always been there, ever since he pulled me from the fire.”

She could only imagine what Dedue had seen that day. The look on the young prince’s eyes, the panic and the burns, the blood and ash and smoke that must’ve filled his lungs. It was unimaginable, and to go through such a thing at the tender age of 13. 

Near them, Dimitri stood, standing over a corpse. He nudged the dead mans ribs with his boot and turned him over to reveal a bloodied lance hiding under his body. Byleth watched as he dropped his borrowed sword and picked up the lance, inspecting it for just a moment. If he was aware of her and Dedue watching him, he didn’t show it.

“I don’t know what to do for him,” she admitted, whispering, “All I can do is be at his side, I just feel so useless.”

“You shouldn’t. You can't control this."

A harsh reality. She looked back up, “Have you always been this wise?”

“Yes.”

That was most likely true. She’d always adored Dedue, yet halfway through the school year she’d found herself so caught up in Dimitri that she very rarely noticed anybody else. It was still the same now, her heart and mind glued to only one person. 

“I see you’re married,” his eyes went to her left hand, where the green gemstone caught the afternoon sun above, “is it…?”

A subtle glance towards his highness. He was stalking off in search for another kill. Byleth knew that he wore the lavender ring under his gloves, he always did, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

A sigh, “Well, you know how I died?”

“I do. His highness nearly tore up the Oghma mountains looking for you.”

That was nice to know. Dimitri never would allow her to ask questions about that day. 

Distracted, she looked down at her ring and rubbed at the gold band affectionately, almost sadly. “I woke up and found Dimitri on the road. It was about two weeks later when we got married. I wish you could’ve been there,”

He allowed a rare, soft smile, “Only two weeks? You were very patient, professor.”

Was that a joke? Did Dedue learn humor in his absence? 

She stared, brows knit and mouth open. She sputtered for a moment before he stepped back and turned towards where Dimitri had just stood. His eyes followed his liege across the battlefield as he sighed, “I’m not surprised, you two have always been gnawing at the bit to be with each other.”

“That is _not_ true!”

It was. He did not have to argue with her to convince her of the voracity of his statement. Byleth knew well enough that she’d always been in love with him. It was as obvious as the nose on her face. 

Across the town, a flash of blue caught her attention. Once again, for most likely the 10th time in a row, Dimitri was surrounded. Dedue’s soft expression turned stony as he followed her gaze to the sight ahead of them. 

“I’ll take care of this,” he answered, “it is time that I return to my duties.”

If it was anybody else, she would not trust them with her husband - or really, she would not trust her husband with them. Yet, Dedue was sturdy, he knew Dimitri, he knew how to protect him. 

And it would be nice to have a break for once. 

“If you need healing, call me or Mercie,” she glanced across the harbor to the priestess in question, who had not yet realized the return of the Duscurian man. Byleth could only imagine the look on her face - she’d been sad ever since she was told he had died. 

War gave, and took, and apparently didn’t like to keep its victims dead for very long. She was a testament to that fact. 

Dedue gave a short nod before jogging to catch up with Dimitri and his horde of assailants. Byleth watched for a moment, something like relief flickering inside of her. 

She didn’t know what his return meant, whether it would change anything or not. 

Yet, for the first time in a long time, she had hope. 

* * *

The chapel had become a mini campground as of late. 

And it was entirely too annoying to the ghost-addled prince that haunted its halls. 

“I’ve been working on these mammoth sunflowers, I thought that we could grill them up soon and put a bit of that Almyran seasoning you like on them?”

“Yes, that would be good. I tasted fresh sea salt from the coast last year, perhaps we can get that shipped in as well.”

“Oh, perfect! That would go wonderfully with the eggplant patch I have in the greenhouse.”

“I saw my old carrots were still there as well…”

“Yes, they’re very hardy.”

“We can make stew with those.”

“Oh yes! With some of the wild bear that roams around! I’m so excited, I’ve missed your cooking so mu-“

_“Will you two just shut up?”_

Sudden silence. Two pairs of eyes landed on the man glaring from his spot at the head of the room. Dimitri seethed in response to the questioning gazes directed at his form. His face was hot with anger, his fists clenched as he folded his arms over his chest. His lips twitched into the most hateful of scowls. His voice, clear for the first time in a long time, had reverberated through the vast chapel corridors. 

_"Excuse me?"_ Byleth, matching his level of anger in full. She was just as much of a force to be reckoned with as her husband was - and Dedue was unhappily caught in the middle of two colliding hurricanes.

"You heard me," an arrogant sneer and a raising of his chin, coupled with a glare that could kill. "Be silent!"

Dedue sighed. This was the third argument this week. He had learned very quickly to just get away as fast as humanly possible when Byleth and Dimitri began their fights. 

The army had only arrived back at Garreg Mach in the last week, with only a few days of rest allowed to them. Byleth found herself beside Dedue as of late, who was beside Dimitri, who was _always_ beside Byleth. The three were glued together, just like five years prior - as much as the prince despised the company. Byleth’s tent was in the statue room, while Dedue had set up a small camp on the bridge in front of the chapel. He preferred to be near the door, to watch whoever entered and left. Nobody ever did, besides the future Queen of Faerghus herself. 

It was a change, with their marriage. Now, there were _two_ Blaiddyds to watch. _Two_ Blaiddyds to keep in his sights at all times. As happy as he was for them, it was certainly more work. Especially with Byleth’s neuroticisms and habit of running around Garreg Mach with dozens of lost items in her arms. She was difficult to track. 

Dimitri, on the other hand, stayed in the same place. All the time. He was far easier to watch. If only he accepted the company. 

“You’re too loud,” the prince reminded, turning his head to face the rubble of the altar that was so very interesting to him, “I can’t even hear myself think.”

That was most likely a good thing. Dedue sent the prince a curt nod, “I should return to my post anyway.”

He stood up from the pew and slipped into the middle aisle. He had so kindly taken a break from his self inflected guard-work to sit with his ex-professor in the half broken benches of the church. Byleth frowned - she missed their talks. Dedue was a good conversationalist when in the right company. As he moved away to take his leave, Byleth huffed, “You don’t have to go just because he’s in a bad mood. I miss our conversations, Dedue.”

No matter how much she huffed, Dimitri’s command would be followed. “Apologies.” Another curt nod, “I will be right outside the door if you need anything, your majesties.”

Your Majesties. 

How Byleth despised the new title.

As true as it was.

She scowled while Dedue made his way out of the chapel. His footsteps were loud in the following silence, thick with unspoken words. Byleth turned her gaze towards her husband, “Good job, Dima, scare away your only friend. I bet you feel _real_ great now, huh?” 

Turning away, he merely responded with a grunt.

If he had his cape, he would’ve looked far more foreboding in his irritation. His armor remained on, as it always did, blending him in with the shadows contrasting against the moon's light above. The chapel, like many of the other buildings in Garreg Mach, had holes in the ceiling. The air ran cold through its hallways, but Byleth had found herself sleeping there nonetheless. Anything was better than being alone in her old room. 

Without his cape, Dimitri looked too skinny. He was still broad shouldered, still tall, yet she had seen the ribs sticking out from his midsection before. How he held himself up was a mystery to her. 

Said cloak and furs had been recently washed of the grime from the recent battle, and now lay over _her_ shoulders instead. At night, it was cold, and blankets were not so readily available among the army. His newly laundered cloak proved far warmer than any other cover she had available.

She wrapped it further around herself and brought her knees to her chest. Only her head poked out of the top, the only visible part of her body, making it all the more comical as she lectured her husband across the room. “Dedue really cares for you, and you just snap at him like that? Show some gratitude!”

He grunted once more. It was all he deigned to do. 

“He’s been sleeping outside of the chapel, you know. Trying to keep an eye on us.”

“I don’t give a damn where he sleeps,” he snapped, casting her a brief glance over his shoulder, “as long as you two stop talking and stay quiet.”

“I’m _so_ _sorry_ for wanting to have a conversation with someone I care for! I guess you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

It was immediate, his response. He spun around and loosened his arms as he stared her down, watching her curl up on the church pew as if it was her bed. In a way, it was. She’d taken to sleeping in that particular spot before she ever set up her tent in the next room over. The pew was more comfortable than her old bed, far less empty, far less warm. 

Dimitri’s gaze raked across her body, all of it covered by his cloak. He had allowed her to wash it, and had simply never gotten it back - much like his jacket from five years prior, she enjoyed wearing his clothes as much as she possibly could. She wore it well, comfortably. The scent of strawberry and lavender would stick to its fabric for days to come, he knew. 

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. She watched him, wrapped up tightly and warm in her spot, waiting for his retort. He had none. He couldn’t multitask between captivation and irritation. 

“... Speak to whomever you want,” finally, he snapped out the words that sat behind the _I love you’_ s in the processing part of his mind, “just be quiet.”

Her expression turned mocking in an instant. She could never be taken too off guard by his changes. “Oh, are you focusing very hard on that wall?”

He had his own conversations to uphold, his own plans to speak out, even if they be entirely of the hallucinatory nature. Byleth knew that, yet her hot head and temper often got the better of her tongue. 

It was too bad that Dimitri had just as much of a temper. He was not in a position to hide it anymore, not like he used to five years prior.

“You are maddening, woman.”

“ _You’re_ maddening!”

He found his feet moving of their own accord, on the pathway to destruction. Byleth’s eyes widened as he drew near. “W-Wha-“

The kiss interrupted anything she might’ve said. 

He _always_ interrupted her. It was frustrating - so incredibly irritating. She hated it, she hated how he never let her finish a sentence. Did he think he could just kiss her, and her anger would go away? Did he think that this wasn’t frustrating?

Perhaps he did, with how fervently she wiggled from the confines of the cloak, just to swing her arms around his neck and pull him down on top of her. 

The pew complained with his sudden weight, a creak of old wood that threatened to give out underneath their bodies. Yet, she ignored it, and enraptured her senses into the feeling of his chest against hers, his hair between her fingers, his lips hungrily pushing against her in search for whatever it was he wanted to find.

An angry kiss, passionate and filled with frustration bottled up over time. She kicked at the cloak around her legs, just to bring it up and wrap it around his thighs. He had his palm on the pew, beside her head, holding himself up. His kiss drew deeper. His hips brushed against hers. His free hand held her waist and ran down to her thighs, where he grabbed on tightly. 

A shock of pleasure ran up her spine, and pooled in her stomach. Every inch of her body wanted to stay under him, in this kiss, _this_ _moment_. For him to do whatever he wished to her on this church pew. They were married after all, it wouldn’t be against her morals.

Except, it would. And she was embarrassed that he snapped at Dedue. And she was frustrated that she had to follow him around the battlefield. And she was mortified at the thought of Rhea finding out that she got down and dirty in a holy place. 

And most of all, she was stressed. And she was angry. And she adored the kind, chivalrous man that she’d fallen in love with.

“No,” her voice was muffled against his lips, her hands going to his chest to gently push him away, “Not like this, please.”

In an instant, he was off her. He sat up, knees on the pew between her legs. His hand left her thigh and dropped to his sides. His lips were parted, gaze sparking with an urgency she’d never seen before. 

He looked like he ached for her, like he would melt under her touch. The sight knocked the wind out of her. 

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was surprisingly soft, his hands hesitant as they hovered at his sides. 

She knew he _could_ hurt her, but she also knew that he never would. Pulling her legs back, she sat up and put a comforting hand on his chest, “No, you didn’t, I’m okay.”

The very fact that he pulled away so quickly, that he asked if he hurt her - affection nearly ate her alive. 

Goddess, he was good. He was her Dimitri, somewhere underneath it all. She loved him so, so very much. 

The most sound she could muster in the dark emptiness of the room around her was a whisper, “I want it to be special.”

He cleared his throat in a very Dimitri-like fashion, almost bashful if not for the pained twitch of his eyebrow, “We could go to Archbishop Rhea’s old quarters-“

The very thought was mortifying. 

“N-No!” She nearly screeched, “I mean that I want it to be a special night for us, not something that happens just because we’re both stressed out and arguing. I want it be out of love,” her hand went to his cheek, ignoring how he flinched and scowled under her gaze, “not frustration.”

He stared. His face remained unreadable, but he did not move away from her as he usually would. 

Slowly, he lowered himself to the pew and moved his legs so he sat correctly. It was almost casual how he rested his arms on the back of the bench, and spread his feet apart. Byleth watched his silhouette frown in the darkness, illuminated by the soft moonlight above. 

“Sleep next to me tonight?” Gently, she brushed a lock of wavy hair behind his ear, “I have a little tent set up in the statue room.”

Of course she would set up a tent indoors, right in the spot where she had a perfect view of him all through the night. She was not sneaky, he’d noticed her sleeping there.

She picked the discarded cloak up from the ground and folded it over her arm. Dimitri watched her work, “I don’t need sleep.”

“But won’t you try? For me?”

_For_ _her_. 

This woman was far too addictive.

He leaned in to wrap his arms under her legs and pick her up as if she was a rag doll. Her side pressed against his chest, with her arms snaking up and around his neck. He stepped out of the pew and carried her bridal style to the statue room that sat to the right of the altar. A small oil lamp shined in the shadows at the feet of saint Cichol in the corner. 

Byleth looked up at him while he carried her. The bedroll she’d been sleeping in was waiting, big enough to fit them both, though it would be snug. Her feet hung in the air over his forearm, his fingers digging into her thighs. 

Gently, he lowered her to the bedroll. She sat back and rested her head on the pillow, while Dimitri watched from above. His face was hesitant, irritable, his brows furrowed and mouth twitching into a scowl that spoke more than he could say. She watched, blinking. 

“I don’t need sleep-”

“Lay down, my love."

His scowl twitched again. “I don’t need to.”

“I want you to.”

He’d always cared about what she wanted, yet carrying it out was a different matter entirely. To lay down beside her, in the most comfortable spot in the world, and tune out the voices in his head. Unimaginable. They screamed too loud to never be heard. 

But Byleth smelled of strawberries. She was mystical. 

And he was weak. 

His body was not his own- but had it ever been? Since he’d met Byleth five years ago, he’d been enraptured. Captured. He was hers, entirely. If only she didn’t have to share him with the ghosts of his past. 

He lay next to her, on his back, staring at the dark ceiling above. It was one of the few parts of the building that had not crumbled entirely. Byleth turned onto her side to face him and sling an arm over his chest. She held him loosely, but comfortably. She was in her favorite spot, and he in his. 

“Are you mad at me?”

A sigh. A sigh that dropped from his head to his feet. He didn't look at her as he spoke, “No.”

“I just didn’t think it was the right tim-”

A hand clamped over her mouth. She squeaked under his palm while he glared at the ceiling, “It’s not. They wouldn’t allow it anyway.”

His family, his voices, the urges that ran through his body and made him the boar that he was. Byleth knew this, as little as she understood it. 

As his hand left her mouth, she tightened her arm around his chest. Snuggling closer, she buried her face into his shoulder, “This won’t last much longer. I know it. You’ll be okay soon.”

How confident she sounded. How absolutely idiotic she was. He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t even imagine it. He’d lived with this for nine years now, a life without the regret and trauma didn’t seem possible. 

Instead of responding, he merely tightened his arm around her waist. He held her close, afraid she’d disappear. When would she get tired of him? When would she stop caring? When would her energy run out?

“This isn’t what you deserve,” a sigh, an admittance that struck his heart and stomach in sudden anxiety, “I warned you.”

Byleth smiled against his arm. Slowly, she pulled the cloak up over her body and covered them both in it’s warmth. Together, in whatever way they could be. In this dysfunctional, nonsensical, difficult relationship. 

“It’ll be better soon, Dima. I’ll be at your side as long as I can.”

Which, evidently, would not be very much longer.

Little did she know, it was the calm before the storm. 

* * *

“Your Majesties… I’m sorry to wake you, but-”

Dimitri was awake in an instant, he never did sleep well. It didn’t matter who it was that had spoken. Instantly, his hand was on his hidden blade, his body lunging forward to attack the source of the voice that had woken him. Byleth lay at his side as he leaned over her, one hand holding himself up on the ground, the other holding the dagger pressed against the intruder’s neck. 

Rodrigue stared down his adoptive son. His eyes were wide, but unsurprised. He raised a dark eyebrow and cocked his head, while the cold of the blade pressed into his skin. It had not drawn blood, but he could feel the sharpness of the dagger on his throat. Dimitri would not dare to carry a dull blade. 

“Like I said,” a flickering smirk, amused at the glare on the future king’s face, “I apologize for having to wake you.”

He knew it would be an ordeal. Dimitri rarely slept, the sight of him curled up in a bedroll with his wife in his arms was tempting, almost making Rodrigue save his important news for another time. Under his arm, lay Byleth, eyes still closed and breath still steady. 

Dimitri scowled heavily and pulled the dagger back from his neck. He would not dare to hurt Rodrigue, even in his tired, half asleep state. “What is it?” he whispered. It was almost sweet how he didn’t want to wake the sleeping woman beside him. 

Rodrigue lowered his voice into a whisper as well, out of respect for the future queen of Faerghus. “We have news about the enemy troops. They’re marching towards Gronder.”

It was still dark outside. It was around 5 a.m. with the stars still twinkling above. It was cold, and quiet, and empty. Yet, Rodrigue knew that Dimitri would want to know as quickly as humanly possible. Rodrigue himself had woken up simply to receive the news from his spies. 

It was an important moment. It felt like the war was real, now, not just petty little fights any longer. They would be against Edelgard herself, against Claude, on the very field where history was made. 

Dimitri’s eye widened. His mouth was set into a thin line as he stared at the Fraldarius man. He watched his muscles stiffen and his fist clench so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

“Will… _she_ be there?”

With the look on his face, Rodrigue found himself hesitating before forcing out a whispered, “Yes.”

His throat bobbed. He moved tensely against the sleeping future Queen in his arms. Gently, he loosened his grip from her and pulled his body away. Peacefully, she sighed against the rough pillow and shifted under the heavy cloak. Dimitri sat up to see Rodrigue better in the golden flickering of the oil lamp nearby. 

“I’ll be leaving, then,” it was almost polite how he said it, pushing himself up and stepping back, “don’t tell her anything.”

Rodrigue frowned and stood up in turn, “I can’t keep this from your wife - and besides that, you shouldn’t leave by yourself, your Majesty.”

“Stop saying that,” a snap, filled with venom, “I am _not_ a King. I am not even a man-”

“Dimitri, as your advisor, I _advise_ you to not go after the Empress on your own-”

The future King stepped past him. His arm brushed against his as he made for the large archway that led into the chapel. It was quiet, cold. He looked skinny without his cloak. “I didn’t ask for your advice.”

He did not, that was true. Yet, Dimitri didn’t understand the intent. Did he ever? “I tell you this as an advisor, _and_ a father. Byleth will not be happy with you.”

He glanced over his shoulder, “Is she ever?”

“You tell me.”

He grabbed the lance leaning against the wall. It fit into his hand like an extension of himself, while he nearly blended in with the shadows in his dark armor. How he slept in that was a mystery. 

His hair was messy over his shoulders, cut into odd ways, with choppy layers that stuck out around his ears. His arms were lean under the armor, his body having mostly muscle and no fat. He glanced over his shoulder, yet refused to meet Rodrigue’s eyes. 

“ _Do_ _not_ tell her. That’s a command.”

Regret, and frustration. Worry and concern. Byleth lay asleep behind him, unaware of her surroundings. Dimitri would always be hard-headed - he would always do what he wanted, what the _dead_ wanted. He couldn't imagine a different way of living. 

“...As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, have any criticism or suggestions, leave a comment and talk to me! Thanks <3


	11. The Journey of Dimitri A. Blaiddyd

_In the blossom of the months_

  
_I was sure that I'd get driven off with thought_

  
_So I swallowed all of it_

  
_As I realized there was no one who could kiss away my shit_

"Paul" - Big Thief

* * *

Dedue was far better at stealth than he liked to admit. 

In Duscurian culture, one who blended with the shadows of the night was considered weak, cowardly. If one needed the moon’s presence to stalk his prey they simply proved that they could not be trusted. Why else would they need to hide their strikes? Their blows were soft, a coward’s game - commonly associated with thievery and assassinations. 

This was the opposite of how Duscur taught it’s children. If one was to fight, they would do it in the open. They would do it with integrity, and hide nothing. Faerghus was much the same in this way, as the two cultures often intermingled more than either would like to admit. Dimitri had often fought in the same way as Dedue. They both were honest, and unafraid to show it. Stealth was not a trait found in true warriors of the North. 

Yet, here was his King, sticking to the shadows like a ghost. 

Dimitri had something to hide. 

Displeasure mingled with suspicion as Dedue watched him slink from the monastery doors. He veered right to stay to the side of the bridge where the light was the most dim. He did not even spare his retainer’s small camp a glance as he left, seemingly unaware of his presence at all.

Within the last week of returning to Garreg Mach, Dedue had been sleeping outside of the monastery. He was not accustomed to sleeping on a mattress any longer, and much preferred the cool stone of the ground. It was how he’d been living with his brethren for so long, nearly four years then, and his back complained if he ever laid on a true bed. Dimitri seemed to suffer the same curse, as the only time Dedue saw him asleep was on the ground beside Byleth, in the statue room of the chapel. 

Dedue followed her lead in setting up a camp nearby the future King. It was true that the monastery was becoming a small gathering place as of late. It was far more comforting to have Dimitri in his line of sight, not only for himself, but for the comfort of the rest of the army as well. Dedue's return had given many hope for the emotional state of their prince, Byleth especially. It was almost tiring how often she insisted on sitting beside him and talking while they watched Dimitri together. She was a good conversational partner, and always had been, but she wore her anxiety on her sleeve. Every few seconds, her eyes would shift to the prince, as if she was afraid his rare show of calm would break any moment then. Last night, it did, and Dedue had pointedly tuned out their argument.

It was only several hours later when Rodrigue slipped past Dedue's camp and entered the open monastery doors. The sound of his approaching footsteps had awoken him, though he was not sleeping deeply in the first place. Dedue leaned against the wall and watched for him to leave, yet he did not. Instead, it was Dimitri who had stalked out of the entrance. He had not caught any of the conversation, but he assumed that it was important. There was no other reason for Rodrigue to wake the prince from a much needed slumber - especially with Byleth there. Nobody tended to bother Byleth and Dimitri when they were alone together, for fear of being roped into whatever nonsense the future Queen was going on about in that moment. Among other paranoias.

Dedue pushed himself up from the ground and hoisted his ax over his shoulder. Dimitri was across the bridge by now, and entirely too quiet for his liking. There were no whispers to unseen ghosts pouring from his mouth, no pained expressions. He was not wandering, as Dedue found him occasionally doing in the small hours of the night - he was determined, and he was silent as a shadow. 

He had to follow. What else could a retainer be expected to do?

Perhaps it was the last four years of stalking imperial camps and living in Duscur that made him rather stealthy. The state of his country had fallen significantly, and as much as he had tried to heal the wounds, there was only so much that one man could do. Oftentimes, he would resort to sneaking refugees out of Imperial-controlled villages. He had learned to stalk silently, step heel to toe, even in heavy armor. As he moved across the bridge in his chase of the prince, he barely made a sound. 

He walked casually, yet his breathing was controlled. His eyes stuck onto Dimitri ahead of him, watching the prince hunch over to make himself smaller as he made his way through the courtyards. This was far different than how Dimitri usually walked - it lacked the confidence of a madman, the heat of his rage, the stomp of his feet as if simply moving was far too dreadful for him. Now, he was quiet, he was trying his best to be stealthy. 

And he really was not very good at it. 

“Goddess dammit,” a crash of wooden barrels and crates. They seemed to roll across the ground indefinitely, clattering and complaining with the impact. Dedue watched as Dimitri leaned down to halt the movement of one crate and curse once again, “Who the hell put these here?”

Annette did, they were supposed to be filled with a shipment of apples coming in tomorrow. Dedue had helped stack them earlier. 

If nobody had been woken by the crash, they would be woken by his curses. Hurriedly, he moved on. Dedue picked up his speed to keep his eyes on the prince that fled the scene. He was leaving, cutting through the stables and down to the marketplace. The exit neared. He had something to hide, and he had not even noticed Dedue on his heels. 

It was time to be a true Northern warrior, to be open. Enough of the sneaking around, his patience was beginning to wear thin. 

“Your highness-”

The lance cut through the air in an instant. Dedue knew where it would land, right on his neck, and no further. Even with one eye, Dimitri’s aim remained deadly. If he wanted to cut his throat, it would be cut by then. Yet, instead, the tip of the lance rested on Dedue’s adam’s apple. He lifted his chin to give the prince a better view of his target, as if to challenge him. He was no threat to him. If he wanted to kill him then he could do so quickly enough, with his throat offered as if on a silver platter. One slice would be all it would take. 

He watched Dimitri’s good eye narrow in suspicion. There seemed to be a hint of annoyance flickering across his face, the same look he wore five years prior when he would be bested in training. No matter how much he insisted that he was not the same, he wore the same face, he acted out the same mannerisms. It was uncanny, the resemblance. It had only gotten more so in the last week. 

The prince did not speak. He held the lance to Dedue’s neck with one hand, the other resting on the dagger at his belt. He had left his blue cloak and his animal furs behind, presumably on Byleth. He gazed at his retainer, and waited for an explanation. 

Little did he know, Dedue did not feel as if he needed to give one. He had to know what he was there for, and what he was possibly doing trailing him through the town very late at night. Nothing had changed in their dynamic of retainer and prince, no matter the years that passed. 

A moment of silence passed. As he realized that Dedue would not answer, he gritted his teeth and sighed in annoyance. Pulling the lance away and slipping it into the holder on his back, he turned away, “You’re not coming.”

That was simply _not_ true. He had to know better than that. 

He took a step towards the exit gate. Dedue followed. The prince stiffened, “Dedue,” the tone of his voice held a warning that would not be followed, “This is my chance for revenge, I will not allow anyone to get in the way.”

It was not as if Dedue _didn_ ’t understand the need for revenge. He and Dimitri had spent many nights of their teenage years discussing all the possible avenues to have the heads of their family’s killers. He had felt the fire of it, the itch, the wounds that still hurt and reminded him constantly of the fact that someone had to pay for making them. He would never _not_ have burn marks on his back and a fear of wildfires.

Yet, he did _not_ have the compassion of Dimitri. And most importantly, he did not have the dead in his mind. His own trauma had manifested itself into a stoic demeanor and a penchant for suspicion. Dimitri’s had done the exact opposite: extreme compassion turning him into a man who cared more for the opinions of people nine years dead, rather than the opinions of the living around him. And he called himself a monster for it. 

And perhaps he was. Dedue wasn’t sure, he didn’t quite like to think about it. He simply followed him, kept him safe, and made sure he wasn’t dying. It was a simple, fulfilled life. 

“Where are you going?”

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder with his good eye. His brow furrowed, his lips frowned. He nearly looked normal, if not for the dark crescent moons under his eyes and the stringy hair falling into his face. The expression was not full of hatred for once, it was something else entirely. Something too foreign for this face to wear. 

As if he had realized how he looked, Dimitri turned away. He began walking once more, with Dedue following at a silent distance. The marketplace was empty this time of day, and silent for once. Usually, it was Dimitri’s least favorite part of Garreg Mach, it was far too loud with the voices of other humans. They tended to drown out the ones he wanted to hear the most. Dedue found himself disliking the crowd just as much for different reasons. 

“Your Highness,” an insistence, spoken under his breath, “may I ask where you’re going?”

The politeness was fake. It helped to soften the pressure.

Dimitri grunted, “Gronder.”

Rolling hills, mock battles, and a victory feast. Dedue was on the front lines with his dull ax and his beat-up armor. Dimitri had patted his shoulder after the battle and told him how important he was to Faerghus, to the Lions, to him. The calm before the storm.

“...Ah, Gronder... I see.”

He did see, as much as he didn't want to. He wished that there was nothing to see at all, life would be so much more simple that way.

A silent beat. Dimitri approached the gates. Dedue opened his mouth to speak once more.

“Should you not bring an army along?”

He scoffed, “I don’t need it.”

_Edelgard_ had an army. She was not dumb enough to meet Dimitri by herself, no matter how proud she was. And Dimitri could not possibly be deluded enough to fight through hordes of soldiers in search of her head. Even with his strength, and with Dedue at his side, that was simply not possible. Dedue had already been thought dead before, he was not prepared to make it official now.

“Your Highness-”

The prince swung around. He faced his retainer with a glare, a seething frown that hissed venom between his teeth. He was like a cat on his hind legs, hair up and tail straight, teeth bore. Dedue watched his walls raise in defense and tried to stay cool, hoping that his own calm demeanor would put out the fire in his liege.

“Do _not_ act as if you’re worried,” he took a step forward, fists balled, “I am not the man you knew five years prior, and you have no obligation to me. You never have. Don’t follow me-”

“That’s not true, your Highness.”

“ _Shut_ _up_ ,” another snap, “save your own life and stay here, _do_ _not_ follow me. This is _my_ revenge.”

His revenge. _His_ revenge? 

It was rare for Dedue to lose control of his emotions. That control was born after years of trauma, post traumatic stress and coping mechanisms. He felt the best when he was unaffected, when he wore a shell around his heart. Words rarely bothered him. 

Yet, was it _his_ revenge? Was it truly only Dimitri’s?

Pantheon of Duscur help him for what he is about to do. 

The fact of the matter was that Dimitri needed to be hit in that moment, preferably by a close friend. With Dedue being the closest, as well as the only one nearby, he supposed that he should have to be the one to do it. He could not help the frown, the anger, as he reared back, and swung his arm towards the prince. 

Dimitri’s good eye only had a second to widen in surprise before Dedue’s right fist knocked into his cheekbone. It hit clean, and hard. A resounding thwack tore through the empty marketplace, followed by a surprised gasp from it’s receiver. He stumbled back as the sting spread from his face and to his skull, his feet tripping over each other. He caught himself against the unopened gate and pressed his back against the cold metal. Dedue pulled his fist away, and looked at his hand.

He had punched him so hard that his middle knuckle drew blood. He brushed his thumb against the scrape and frowned, before raising his eyes to meet the shocked prince staring in horror and shock.

Dimitri’s cheek was red and furious. He held a darkly gloved hand to it and rubbed his jaw. His good eye burned with something like anger, mixed with betrayal. Dedue grimaced subtly, “Did I break any teeth?”

Dimitri ran his tongue across his back teeth. Everything was in check - he had taken worse hits, and Dedue was obviously not using his full strength. The Blaiddyd crest allowed him higher pain tolerance, yet the sting of the punch still pounded inside his face as a reminder of whatever it was that he had done to deserve it. He was sure he’d done _something_. 

It was the first time Dedue had ever hurt Dimitri. Even in training, he was hesitant to do such a thing. If it had been Felix, even Sylvain, he would return the assault as quickly as he could. Yet, this was _Dedue_. Dedue, who never laid a finger on him. Dedue, who took care of flowers and baked pies and would follow him to the ends of Fodlan. 

Dedue had punched him in the face. 

And he probably deserved it. If only he knew why.

Dedue continued to rub at the small bloody spot on his knuckles, sighing, “I apologize.”

A frown. He apologized, as if it was an accident. “Explain yourself.”

“Well,” Dedue's brows furrowed with a flicker of anger, “Your Highness, I apologize for what I am about to say... But you were being selfish and unreasonable. To think that this is only _your_ revenge.” The very words filled his veins with offense. Dedue dropped his hands and glared fully, “How could you say that?”

“How could I-”

“Silence!” A snap so uncharacteristic of his retainer that Dimitri found himself instantly silenced in shock, “ _Listen_ to me. I lost my family in the tragedy, you once understood that. You once told me that I would have the heads of those responsible.”

Dimitri stepped back in confusion. The anger left his face as he stared, mouth open in shock. "And you will, Dedue. That’s why I’m leav-”

“I’m _not_ done, your Highness. Let me finish speaking…” he clenched his fists, “Felix and Rodrigue lost their family, Annette lost her father. Ingrid, even, no matter how much she frustrates me, deserves retribution for her lost fiance!” He looked away, trying to clear his head, “You do not understand anymore that the tragedy has touched countless lives. And if you die in your attempt to kill the Emperor will then _nobody_ will ever have peace!"

He scowled, “Her death _will_ bring peace to Fodlan. I will not die.”

“You _will_ ,” a snap, filled with hurt and anger, “Even if you manage to sneak into her army’s camp and have her head, there will be others to take her place. You know that she is not alone in her war, you cut one head off and three others will grow back. And you forget, your Highness… Your own wife has been affected by them as well. They took her father, her only family besides you. Does she not deserve to claim revenge as well? This battle is not only yours.”

This battle was not his, and was never meant to be. He had been alone for five years. He had forgotten how to fight alongside a family. It didn’t even seem plausible any longer. 

It still did not. Dimitri frowned and stared past Dedue’s shoulder. He glared at the empty stalls and the sparkling dew that covered the grass. It would be morning soon, and he had so little time left. Yet, Dedue’s words stuck in his mind like an unwanted fly. 

_“You know he’s a spy, right?”_ Whispered Lambert in his ear, _“Coming back from the dead so suddenly? He was sent by that woman.”_

No, not possible. Dedue was his most trusted friend besides Byleth herself. He would never do such a thing. 

_“Well, perhaps he’s being mind controlled?”_

Falling silent, Dimitri narrowed his good eye. He searched Dedue’s face for any sign of mind control - he wasn’t sure what that would even look like. Dedue simply looked like himself, albeit older, more scarred. A flash of confusion washed over him as Dimitri studied him. 

_“He wants to cut off her head himself, that’s why.”_

That didn't make sense either. For anyone else, perhaps it would. Yet Dedue had never been especially violent, nor did he possess the determination for revenge that Dimitri did. He lived through his trauma in his own way, a way far different than Dimitri’s.

And he had come back from the dead to serve him again. Would a rival place himself so close to him? It didn’t quite make sense. 

He could feel Lambert’s displeasure in the back of his mind. He had been so much more quiet as of late, but a father’s anger never ceased. Dimitri’s heart skipped in fear as he imagined a blond head lying in a pool of blood. 

_Nobody_ came back from the dead. The dead were angry, vengeful, and permanent. Dedue looked at Dimitri in the way he always had - soft, impassive. He was calm, and so different from the ghosts he'd always known.

And Dedue was not dead. And Dedue had nearly given his life for him. And Dedue didn't want to kill Dimitri for being what he was.

Perhaps the world he’d known for the last five years was not as clear cut as he believed it to be. 

A scary idea. Terrifying, even. 

_“Just go, my son. What does this spy know?”_

He was beginning to get a migraine. It pounded behind his eyes as if Lambert was inside of his mind, stabbing him as a reminder of what he should be doing in that moment. Nothing made sense anymore, and had not for a while now. Setting all of his thoughts aside, Dimitri turned away to work on opening the metal gates once more. The world was slowly turning brighter with the disappearance of the moon above. Soon, the sun would be shining and the entire monastery would awaken to find him gone. He had to work quickly, and ignore the complaining of the gears as he yanked on the lever. 

Dedue sighed behind him, “You’re still going?”

“Yes,” a grunt, finally the doors were open wide enough for him to slip through, “but I will not stop you from following.”

While it didn’t make much sense to Dedue, he would accept whatever he could get. It was the tiniest of allowances, but it meant so much. It spoke so many words and feelings that neither of them could ever even begin to express. 

Dedue smiled at the sight of Dimitri slipping through the doors. He followed, watching his liege’s back while he stalked down the road. 

He was getting better. Slowly, in the smallest of ways. But it was there. 

* * *

Byleth woke up alone, covered in her husband’s cloak.

Cedar trees, with a sprinkle of mint. That was the smell of Dimitri - when _she_ did his laundry, at least. It surrounded her even more warmly than the cloak itself. Smiling, she drew herself further underneath the material and let it engulf her senses. 

Their relationship almost seemed normal last night. They kissed, they touched. He wanted to be with her, and he did so without flinching as if she was about to stab him. The progress was amazing - so entirely different than when they first reunited just months before. 

She squealed and gripped the furs closer to her face. She took in the scent, the experience. To have laid next to him all night, with him actually making an effort to sleep. She could still feel the weight of his arm slung over her waist as they spooned in her bedroll. The memory of his lips on hers was sweet, making her bury her face further into the cloak and let out a muffled yell into the material. 

It was a rare moment of girlish excitement, and it was entirely ruined just a moment later. She could not hear the footsteps approaching, nor see who stood over her little bedroll. 

“Uh, professor? Am I interrupting?”

“Annette!” It was a yell, far louder than she meant it to be. She sat up and threw the cloak off as if it was never there in the first place - as if she was _not_ just rolling around in it like a dog on a bone. Her cheeks grew warm as she looked at the mage standing before her. Her hair stuck up with the static, glued to her cheeks and floating around her head. 

Annette laughed. Of course she did. She tried her best not to, covering her mouth and turning away so Byleth would not see her grin. It did _not_ work, as her professor was prone to a huffy frown that only made her look more silly. 

“W-What can I help you with?” Byleth hated the stutter in her voice. Her cheeks only grew warmer as Annette tried her best to stifle her chuckle. “You should’ve knocked, you know.”

“I did!” A snort as she shut her eyes tightly, “You were too busy squealing!”

Yes, she supposed she _was_ quite busy squealing. She had her reasons. Sighing, she tried to pat down her static filled hair, “I’m just happy, I suppose. It feels like a rare achievement these days.”

She covered her smile with a dainty hand, “To be happy?”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes and huffed, “Goddess that sounds pitiful. But with Dedue coming back and all, Dimitri’s been more… himself. Or at least as close to that as he can possibly get.”

“Ah,” Annette let out a deep breath and nodded her head, “I understand, professor. You don’t have to explain it. I’d be squealing too if my husband was back to normal.” If she had a husband. Frowning, she glanced down at her ring-less finger - Felix sure liked to take his time. Or perhaps he was simply teasing her, knowing how badly she wanted to be married. Despite her own lack of fulfillment, it was nice to see Byleth happy. Annette had watched her friend put on a brave expression for so long. As much as Byleth loved him, one can only take so much when in a relationship like that. 

She sighed and sat down next to her, patting her hand, “So, how do you think he’s getting better?”

She lit up with excitement, “He’s been talking to himself less, and he’s not flinching away from me. He’s getting used to us touching. He actually took a bath without me pressuring him the other day!”

“Oh thank the goddess.”

“He’s been holding me more at night, and actually trying to make an effort to sleep. It doesn’t always work,” she tilted her head in thought, “but at least he’s trying. He’s just… I don’t know, he’s just doing better than before.”

“Do you think it was Dedue coming back?”

“Yes, and… I don’t want to give myself too much credit, but…”

That was stupid. She deserved as much credit as she could possibly get, along with Rodrigue and Dedue. Rodrigue tended to keep his distance, yet his very presence in Garreg Mach seemed to soothe the prince. Byleth took a much more hands-on approach, but like water dripping down on a stone, it had begun to wear him down. Or at least, it seemed as much. Several people in the army had noticed the smallest of changes about the prince. 

When Annette had first found out that the two were married, she was ecstatic. She’d been watching them give each other the most pining-filled looks for a year straight, made all the more romantically taboo by the teacher/student dynamic. It was undeniable how they felt for each other, and no matter how much they attempted to hide it, they could never keep the longing looks away. To see them finally together, finally married, was entirely too satisfying. 

Until he opened his mouth and ruined it all. 

While she worried that Byleth would not be treated right, she kept an eye on her friend, and eventually trusted that Dimitri would never hurt her. He may have emotional walls higher than Arianrhod, but Byleth had always been a good climber. All Annette worried about was that her friend not get too stressed out, and take some time for herself, rather than dedicate every inch of her being to her husband. 

Mental illness could not be cured with kisses. They helped, but it was not a cure. Byleth seemed to learn that over the last several months. 

To see her happy was a relief. Annette tangled her fingers with hers and sent a smile, her heart skipping a beat in happiness. Byleth smiled back, no matter how silly her hair still looked - or the pillow marks on her cheeks, or the dried drool on the corner of her mouth. She was happy, and Annette knew that everybody would love to see that. 

“How about we all eat breakfast together as a group, just like the old days?” She offered with a friendly tilt of her head, “We can get the Lions back together and act at least a little bit normal before our next battle.”

Byleth’s shoulders were not hunched with stress for once. She smiled, “That sounds good. Let me go find Dima and see if he’ll be up to it.” He hadn’t been in the past, yet her newfound optimism was one hell of a drug. 

She got up and brushed her hair behind her ears. Annette’s eyes caught onto the sharp point at the ends, no longer round. Had they always been that way? Knife-like and odd looking? Byleth didn’t seem to notice as she left the room in search of her husband. 

And he was not at the altar like usual. Perhaps he went to the restroom, or the bath house. 

Annette stayed by her side as she searched. The bathhouse was empty - besides Sylvain in a small towel, laying with the door open and his legs spread apart, saying ‘hey ladies’ as they walked by. He was promptly ignored. 

Next, Byleth searched the dining hall. Dimitri had never wandered into there, but there was a chance he was hungry and had gone for food. It was empty, besides the staff, and Flayn working on some burnt thing on the stove in the corner. 

“The war room?” Suggested Annette, “Or perhaps the library?”

The library was empty. The war room held only Rodrigue, Seteth, and Gilbert. 

Annette took a step behind Byleth’s arm as if she was a wall between her and her father. She turned away to stare at a pile of books, anything besides the red haired man who gazed at her across the table with sad eyes. He always looked so tired, so regretful, but anytime Annette had actually tried to engage him, he acted as if he could never be forgiven. It was simply not worth it anymore. 

Rodrigue sent Gilbert a hesitant smile. He had all the affection in the world for the Dominic girl, his future daughter in law, even if Felix denied his intentions to propose - he had a ring, he just wanted to make her as frustrated as possible before he asked. Which was entirely too easy. 

Byleth merely looked worried as she stepped further into the room. The three men stayed in their corner with their maps and their quills, straightening up as she approached. “Have you seen Dimitri?”

The biggest question of all. Rodrigue shifted uncomfortably, his affectionate smile falling. Gilbert looked away, while Seteth cleared his throat. It was awkward, the silence that followed her seemingly innocent question. Too awkward, and too suspicious. 

Byleth’s eyes darted to the map on the small table in front of them. Seteth’s hand moved to cover something he had written. He lifted his chin at her, “No, we have not.”

Worry pierced her stomach, “I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

“Perhaps he’s in the latrine?”

She and Annette wrinkled their noses at the suggestion. Gilbert put his hands behind his back and sighed, closing his eyes, “He’ll turn up. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yes,” a smile from Rodrigue, “he’s bound to turn up eventually.”

They spoke as if he was a missing sock, not an entire person. A tall, darkly clad, hallucinating person. He was difficult to miss. 

Suspicious. 

“Let’s just go,” Annette whispered as she linked their arms together, pulling her away from the men and their odd, hidden maps, “They’re obviously no help. And I’m getting hungry.”

As was she, but Dimitri was bound to be hungry too. He didn’t have his cloak either, and it was a colder day than usual. Worry manifested itself even deeper inside of her stomach as she allowed Annette to pull her out of the room. It was still early in the day, and the Monastery did not have that many hiding places. 

“They’re right, you know,” she whispered while they walked down the hall, “he’ll turn up eventually.”

Turn up dead, assassinated by one of Edelgard’s lackies. Or injured, at the very least. And where exactly would he turn up? Could she get to him fast enough? She was not quite yet ready to be a widow. 

It was moments like these that Byleth remembered what he had said the first time he ever proposed. He could not give her the life and future she deserved - and while she wasn’t quite sure _what_ she deserved, she only hoped it didn’t mean losing her husband. She knew that he had that in mind at the time, that it was always a possibility. Yet, it was a chance she had always been willing to take. 

Perhaps he really was just in the restroom, though, and she was letting anxiety get the best of her. 

“Yeah,” she sent Annette a hesitant smile, “I’ll just save him a plate.”

It was a struggle to get all of the Lions together - save Dimitri - for breakfast, but Annette was determined. In only 30 minutes time, all of the Lions gathered at their old table, the one they always chose in their school days. The Black Eagles would sit two tables down, followed by the Deer. On occassion, a spoon full of pudding was launched from the Deer table and hit an Eagle, who blamed a Lion, who defended their honor with a spoon full of corn in return. As much as Ingrid hated to admit it, she had wicked aim in a food fight.

Sylvain was the last to show up to breakfast. Thankfully, he wore clothes then, and was accessorizing with a village girl hanging off his arm. She looked as if she was a merchant's daughter, someone effected by war and taking refuge in Garreg Mach. His hair was far messier than usual, still damp from his morning bath, and his armor was half gone. He grinned as he sauntered towards his friend with the new girl on his arm,"Guys, this is my future wife, Lydia."

All eyes rested on her. She stiffened and frowned, "Uh... my name is Liana."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Leyuna."

It had to be the shortest relationship Sylvain had as of late. A huff, a smack. The sharp sound of her palm against his cheek echoed through the dining hall, followed by an eruption of laughter from the table. Sylvain’s cheek was red, his eyes closed shut as he held his hand to his face, "W-Wait, what did I do?" 

She looked as if she wanted to slap him again before she left in a huff. Defeated, he dropped into the empty spot beside Ingrid, who rightfully informed him of how much he deserved it. Another chorus of snickers, nostalgic smiles, a shared memory of how life used to be five years ago. It was a moment that was almost normal, something rare in the days of war.

Flayn and Ashe held their own conversation on the other end of the table, while Byleth listened on politely. Next to her, Annette and Felix pretended that they were not holding hands secretly. Byleth caught a glimpse of Annette resting her head on his shoulder, but only for a second, before she stuffed another hashbrown into her mouth and stomped her feet with joy - making him smirk. It was a sweet sight, one that Byleth had always wanted to see. She’d watched the two avoid their feelings for each other for so long.

Across from her, Mercedes steeped her tea. She had finished eating her fruit and had moved onto her morning tea, something she often took with Byleth. She was good company when tired, her voice lulling, and never too loud. She looked up at her ex-professor to catch her eyes, and smiled, “You look well rested.”

She supposed that she was. “Dimitri and I actually managed to get some sleep last night.”

Down the table, Sylvain whistled at the comment, “You two are always busy at night huh-”

Byleth and Mercedes ignored the implication while Ingrid punched him in the arm. The priestess only smiled and leaned forward, “That’s good to hear. I’ve noticed him looking a bit better lately. Less… pale. And tired.”

Still pale, still tired, but less. Less was good in this case. “I think he’s starting to get better.”

She tilted her head, “Oh?’

“Yes, hopefully he’ll be back to normal soon.”

“But… do you really think that?”

Confused, Byleth sat up straight. Her eyes were wide as she stared, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Mercedes pursed her lips and rested her chin in her palm, face thoughtful, “Is he ever going to be who he was five years ago? I’m not who I was five years ago, and neither are you. Nobody is.”

Befuddled, she tilted her head, "Well, of course he’s older. But what about when he gets better, you know, mentally? I don’t think it’s wrong to wish that he’d be at least a bit like his old self.”

“It’s not wrong, professor," a smile with a hint of pity, as if she knew how niave Byleth was. Mercedes was far more observant than she let on, "But even if he finds contentment and peace, he’ll still be scarred by what he’s done, and by what’s happened to him. There’s no possible way that he could be the same person as before. No matter how much a wound heals, the scar will still be there.”

Byleth knew the nature of scars. She had a few herself. Her life had changed beyond repair when Jeralt died in her arms. That scar would never heal. Dimitri had so many more than the average person. And Mercedes was right, as much as the words hurt. She was right. 

Yet, she wanted so desperately to be an optimist. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted the world to be at peace - for her husband to love her the way she _knows_ he could. There were so many things she wanted, and very few that she felt she could ever achieve. 

She stared at Mercedes’ fingers as she pulled the tea bag in and out of her cup. It was a gentle movement, almost mesmerizing. It was something to look at other than the woman’s knowing eyes. 

“I hope he’s happy one day. That’s all.”

“Me too,” a sigh, “and I hope the same for you. That’s why I’m saying this, professor. I don’t want you to… well, to get your hopes too high. I don’t think the Dimitri from five years ago is ever coming back.”

It wasn't as if she thought that. She knew that he was gone, and she wondered if she even truly wanted that. The Dimitri from five years ago was an insomniac with barely concealed trauma, teetering on the edge of something far larger than he could handle. But he was the man she fell in love. It isn't wrong to hate change, she thought, I'm not wrong to want things to stay the way they were.

“I do love what he is now," thoughtful, she bit her lip, thinking of how different he acted. Did she truly love him now? Or did she simply tell herself that? There were good things about him - she was certainly still attracted to him, and she could find the good in him underneath it all. It was hard, though, and it was a constant fight. It was sheer determination to see him get better that kept her going. Sighing, she knew that she could not keep secrets from Mercedes. The woman had already guessed it before any words were even spoken. "Truth be told, Mercie, I can't imagine living this way forever.”

She smiled knowingly, “If you think he’s getting better then you might not have to. He might become someone different, but we can’t know until we see it.”

“I… I hope it’s soon.”

“Me too.”

Mercedes had a way of bringing others into her own little world. Around them, the table buzzed with chaotic energy. Other conversations carried on, while Mercedes reached across the plates to grab Byleth’s hand in a show of comfort. She sent a smile, a tilt of her head, a look of kindness and a reassuring squeeze. 

“Oh, also," Mercedes lit up as if she was remembering something, "do you happen to know where Dedue is?”

All conversation fell silent. The table had two empty seats at the end, reserved for the missing men. Mercedes' expression fell as she realized that Byleth had no answer to her question. Ashe looked to Annette, “Could you not find him earlier?”

She shrugged, “I just assumed he was with his Highness.”

“You’re probably right, but…”

Felix sighed and glared at Byleth, “Did you lose your boar?”

Yes. “No, he’ll turn up.”

Felix was far too observant for his own good. He eyed the ex-professor with suspicion, noting her aversion and her soft voice. Byleth was frequently anxious, but rarely unconfident when it came to the subject of her husband. He scowled, “I don’t want him to turn up randomly. I want to know he’s caged up somewhere.”

Annette lightly slapped his arm, “Stop it! Don't talk about his Highness that way!"

"Why not?" He challenged, "A loose animal is dangerous."

Mercedes' concern was more for Dedue than Dimitri. She had not gotten much of a chance to see him since he came back, and was looking forward to cooking with him. Worried, she tapped her chin, “What if they left together? Maybe they went hunting?”

There was no reason for them to do that. Byleth shook her head, “Dimitri hasn’t gone hunting in months, I’ve been bringing him food. And Dedue would warn me first.” He’d been just as watchful of her as of late. He would not leave to hunt without at least a note to reassure her.

Theories flew. Flayn offered the restroom option again - which was not quite plausible anymore, it had been far too long. Felix suggested that he had been assassinated and that Dedue was burying his body - which earned a heavy glare from Byleth. Ingrid and Mercedes latched onto the idea that the two were off hunting together as a way to bond after reuinting. 

Sylvain, on the other hand, merely watched. His brows were furrowed in confusion, his mouth set into a frown. He watched everybody discuss the future King and his retainer’s whereabouts, befuddled at the conversation at hand. 

Because obviously, they were all wrong. Where had his friend’s brains gone?

“Uh,” he spoke up to be heard, “No? He headed to Gronder to kill Edelgard. Dedue must’ve followed him.”

Instant silence. 

It was like a heavy blanket, the tension. All eyes turned to Sylvain to watch him. He flinched away from the stares of his classmates and shook his head as if he could not believe that they did not know this true fact. Byleth, even, had her mouth open in surprise. She, of all people, should know such a thing. 

Unless secrets were being kept. How he loved secrets, and knowing one that nobody else did. That was sweet. 

Byleth was the first to speak through the tension, “G-Gronder?”

“Yeah,” he felt incredibly mischievous, though he knew he should not, judging by the look of betrayal falling onto his ex-professor’s face, “I overheard Seteth and Rodrigue talking about it this morning. I was taking Leyuna,” the wrong name, again, “to the kitchens to grab some food, and I overheard them getting coffee and talking about Dimitri."

Silence, once again. 

“I… thought everybody knew,” he shrugged, “I’m used to everybody being in the know about this stuff.”

Nobody knew. Nobody besides Sylvain, who was not even _supposed_ to know. Byleth, even, did not know, and she ran this entire army. 

All eyes shifted towards the ex-professor. Her face had fallen into a blank, impassive expression. If not for the green hair and eyes, she would look as emotionless as she did on her first day of teaching. Silent, she stood from her seat. She pushed her plate away and left the table without a word. Annette turned around and reached out in an attempt to grab her hand, yet Byleth pulled away before she could make contact. She did not want comfort, nor did she want affection or reassurance. 

She wanted answers. 

"Kick their ass, professor!"

"Flayn, don't swear like that!"

"There goes hurricane Byleth!"

Even Flayn's encouragement could not cool the fires of her emotions. She left the dining hall, making a bee-line to the monastery. Byleth had never been so angry before, so _disappointed_. Air rushed past her ears, though she took no notice of her surroundings. Servants and knights stepped out of the way while she passed. It only took one glance at the expression on her face to know that they should not barricade her path of destruction. At her hip, the sword of the creator throbbed with energy. It was hot to the touch, a physical embodiment of how she felt in that moment. She was sure it glowed with fury as she approached the bridge. 

Up to the second floor, sending a glance towards her father’s office. The door was shut and locked, as always.

Another scowl, and she made her way up the stairs towards the war room. 

Seteth, Rodrigue, and Gilbert were in the same place she had left them, looking over the same map. Their heads raised to meet her eyes as she stomped into their line of sight. Glaring, she stopped, and slammed the heavy double doors behind her. 

Seteth stood up straight, hands behind his back. He scanned her face for any sign of peace, and found none. Byleth crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin to look down on him, staring across the large table in the middle of the room. His own gaze would not back down from her's.

Silence. Rodrigue cleared his throat awkwardly. Gilbert narrowed his eyes. 

A raised brow and a frown, "Can we help-”

“Shut up, Seteth,” a snap that took him aback instantly, “I do _not_ appreciate what has happened. I have been planning every single invasion, every single battle,” she slammed her hand onto the wood table, rattling a quill and making it roll onto the floor at her feet, “and you keep this from me? _Gronder_?”

“...Ah.”

“Tell me, _now_. What is happening at Gronder?”

Rodrigue straightened up to answer her. He had always been the most diplomatic of the three, the best at handling the high emotions of the army. And he was the one Byleth had expected this from the least. “A spy came back last night and informed me that the Emperor is heading towards Gronder. We have written up a letter to the Alliance that I was actually about to ask you to overlook-”

“Why was I not told of this?”

“Dimitri…” all three men shifted uncomfortably, yet Rodrigue held his ground, “asked me not to tell you.”

“ _Why_ would you listen to him?”

He sighed, “I wasn’t planning on it. There’s no way that I could _not_ tell you. The entire army had to find out where we’re marching to next eventually.”

His answer was not good enough. She seethed, “Why was I not told _earlier_?”

Seteth glanced at him. Gilbert lowered his eyes. They had obviously spoken about this, but were hesitant to share their thoughts. A clearing of the throat, a beat of awkward silence. Byleth continued to glare, waiting for her answer. 

Seteth opened his mouth, then shut it. Then furrowed his brows, and opened it again, “You have your hands full with his Highness. I’ve noticed that he’s been looking better recently, less pale and tired,” the same as Mercedes had said, it must’ve been true if others had been seeing it as well, “and it was our assumption that you would want to put your energy towards that.”

Yet, she had been planning each battle. She had been strategizing. She had been giving commands. 

How could they possibly come to that conclusion when it was _she_ who commanded this army?

Seteth opened his mouth to force the rest out, something even more difficult to say than before, “You’ve not been focusing well on the battles. You’ve nearly gotten us killed several times with your strategies.”

The room went quiet. He cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back. Byleth’s mind had emptied itself of all thought, simply pure shock. Pure confusion. Pure rage. 

_“Excuse me?”_

Gilbert, now, spoke, “Byleth, you have nearly killed us _several_ times. It is just as Seteth said. You put Ingrid in front of a line of archers in the last battle. You had Ashe in the front lines. We all fell back, by your command, right when the battle was going our way. Professor, I apologize for saying this, but you have lost your touch.”

Before she could end his life, Rodrigue put up a defensive hand, stepping towards her. His face was kind, yet did nothing to ease her anger. “And our theory is that you are very stressed trying to keep up with his Highness. Am I right?”

Yes. “No. I am a tactical genius!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes, “I have no idea how nobody’s died yet!”

Rodrigue shot him a look, “We’re very fortunate for that, aren’t we? Listen, Byleth, we meant this out of love and concern for you. I think you’re just distracted right now, as anybody would be when trying to keep their husband alive and well.”

People _had_ died. All of them had, at one point. Nobody besides Dimitri knew, and he had simply called her ‘his tool’, something powerful for him to use in his vengeance. She supposed it was powerful, she’d kept her friends from dying permanetly as a result of her bad decisions. Yet, what was a bad decision to someone who could turn back time?

To imagine that her tactics and strategy were lacking. Enough so that she was treated like anybody else, being told the next location of their battle at the same time as the regular soldiers. She had the power to save lives, to turn back the clock, and she was being left out of her own war. She had not even been told of the whereabouts of her own husband.

Perhaps Gilbert had a point. 

But that still didn’t keep her from being angry. 

“I want to know everything,” she slammed her hand down once, making Rodrigue wince, “ _Never_ keep information from me again. You don’t understand how important it is that I know these things.” And how could they? She didn’t even understand her powers herself. 

“I… apologize,” the Fraldarius sighed, “I really am regretful for not telling you. But, I’m simply trying to follow his Highness’s command as best as I can.”

She straightened up, “His command?”

“He told me to not tell you,” a slow nod, a faraway look of concern, “I, of course, could not do that. But we…” he glanced back to Seteth and Gilbert, “wanted to have a plan before we marched after him. We were planning to take this route here, and meet him there.”

He pointed at the map on the table. Byleth slipped around the chairs and approached the map, filled with notes from all three of the men. She leaned down to follow the route Seteth had penned out - through the mountains, down through the forest. It was only a little different from the route they walked when traveling for the mock battle five years prior. 

Seteth stared down at the map, brows furrowed, “The Emperor will be there.”

That was why Dimitri left. And he had asked Rodrigue to keep it a secret from her, nonetheless. 

Mercedes’ words came back to her mind. They echoed like the hurtful reminder of the truth that they were. 

_“_ _I don’t think the Dimitri from five years ago is ever coming back.”_

_"Truth be told, Mercie, I can't imagine living this way forever.”_

_Her_ Dimitri would’ve told her. He would’ve been at her side. He would’ve thought better of going after the Emperor on his own, because he would know how much that would hurt Byleth. 

Five years prior, Byleth left the Monastery late at night. She traveled through the woods, searching for the woman who killed her father. Dimitri followed, until he finally revealed himself, and admitted that he would never let her go alone. 

He had convinced her, then, to turn back to the Monastery and ask for help. She could not fight Solon and Kronya on her own. She needed the help of her friends, her family, of him. 

_“I can’t imagine my life without you,” his lips on her forehead, whispering into her hair, “Please don’t do anything like that, don’t get into a fight you won’t win. I can’t lose you.”_

How much more of this feral man could Byleth take before she cracked? 

The men watched her as she took in Seteth’s words. She lowered her head, and sighed deeply, as if she was letting out every inch of anger that had engulfed her so heavily moments ago. She closed her eyes and folded her arms over each other. 

A moment of thoughtful silence. Rodrigue placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she returned it by touching his fingers and opening her eyes to gaze up at him. She truly was radiant, just as Dimitri had told him so long ago. She cared so much for the prince that she wore it on every inch of herself. And it was what had distracted her so heavily.

“I… I apologize for being distracted the last few months,” her shoulders fell, and she sighed again, “It won’t happen again, I promise. I can’t let my concern for Dimitri cloud my judgement in battle.”

Gilbert nodded, “That’s a good decision.”

“And… I promise that I’m going to fully dedicate myself to getting us out of this war,” her fist clenched in determination, “I need to focus on the rest of the world, not just my husband. It’s no use, anyway. He… obviously does not care enough for me if he thinks he can face the Imperial army by himself. A loving husband does not do that to his wife,” her chest twinged in something akin to sadness, yet she tried her best to ignore it, “I thought he was getting better, I got my hopes up. And it’s taken my mind off what is most important.”

She had wanted to see what he could be - but she could only wait for so long. Whatever Dimitri became in the future wouldn’t matter, as much as the thought pained her. She wished for him to come back, to be at her side in this war, to bring about peace. Yet, it had become obvious that that was not going to happen anytime soon, not by her hand. She felt helpless to do anything for him. 

Even when he held her at night, kissed her and told her he loved her, he still thought of Edelgard and his vengeance. He still left her, running away to fight an army by himself - to get himself killed. 

Did he even _care_ about how she felt? Did he ever think of anything other than vengeance?

She should’ve known. Optimism was blinding. 

Her throat was clogged with sudden emotion, as if she had swallowed a rock. She forced her tongue to move, and her voice to sound confident, despite how she felt on the inside. “That is why I would like to accept Rhea’s decision from five years ago.”

Rodrigue and Gilbert looked confused, yet Seteth’s eyes lit up. He stared in surprise, “You mean…?”

“Yes," a shuddering exhale, and a nod, "I will officially take my place as Archbishop.”

Three sets of eyes landed on her. She was in the spotlight, under their gazes, her face impassive.

If she was Archbishop, she would have no time for Dimitri left. She would have no choice but to focus on the war. If he was not going to get better, then she had to focus on what was most important. The war, peace, the good of all Fodlan.

Seteth clapped his hands together in sudden excitement, “T-That’s great! I’ll start a list,” With wide eyes, he glanced around the room for a blank piece of parchment to write his ideas on, “I’ll call all the noble houses still loyal to us. And I’ll get a decorato-”

“No. Don’t bother.”

He had begun to scribble in the margins of a textbook as he spoke, yet looked up to catch her raising a calm hand. “What?”

Impassively, she waved him off, “I don’t need a huge coronation to be Archbishop.”

“But... there has not been a new Archbishop in thousands of years!”

Gilbert and Rodrigue furrowed their brows in confusion. It could not possibly be true, and Seteth had to have made a mistake with his words. He pushed his shoulders back and cleared his throat, trying to recover, “E-Excuse me. Not _that_ long, of course.”

Byleth ignored his outburst. She knew what Seteth and Rhea were, though how she hid her longevity for so long was beyond her. “I really don’t need a party,” she reassured, “Can we just get it over with today? I want to get the troops moving so we can catch up with Dimitri.”

Rodrigue lit up, “He left around 5 a.m. this morning. It would not be difficult to meet up with him.”

“Great,” a nod, “Gilbert, could you round up some knights to leave within the next hour? And just keep him from moving any faster. Stall for as long as you can so we can meet him on Gronder."

“As you wish, Archbishop.”

Seteth interjected, “May we at least have a small ceremony?”

“No. I’m the Archbishop now. Nothing more is needed.”

“You can’t just _say_ you’re the Archbishop.”

“Oh yeah? Well I just did.”

Amused, Rodrigue stepped up. He was grinning from ear to ear, a twinkle in his eye that was so utterly the opposite of Felix. He put a hand on her shoulder, “Archbishop, would you like me to send some pegasus knights to notify the Alliance?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Don’t call her Archbishop, she’s no-”

“Archbishop,” Gilbert, this time, “how would you like me to stall his Highness?”

“She’s not the Archbis-”

Rodrigue grinned, “Archbishop, would you like to sign the letter to the Alliance?”

“Archbishop, how many soldiers should I take?”

"Archbishop, when should we leave?"

Seteth groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. He looked far more exhausted than usual, frowning in response to the smiles of the men around him. “You both are impossible.”

Byleth only nodded, “See? I don’t need a ceremony, I’m _already_ the Archbishop.”

“Whatever, I don’t even care anymore!”

The amusement was a fine distraction from the the emotions that raged through her body. How she hated them. She had felt so strongly since coming to Garreg Mach, that she sometimes wished she hadn’t, if only to live a simpler life. 

Disappointment, and anxiety. Shame, because Dimitri had warned her long ago that he could not be the husband she deserved. She was a fool for not believing him. 

As Archbishop, she could focus on the war. She would finally put him aside, and give all of herself to bringing peace to Fodlan. Whatever it took, she would do. Even if it meant giving up Dimitri. 

He had one last chance. She would only give him one. She’d given him so many already. 

And if he did not take this chance, he would not get another. 

* * *

It was mid-day when Dimitri and Dedue finally stopped for a break. The afternoon sun shone above, cutting through the chilly breeze that kissed their cheeks. It felt good to be in the woods again, marching without an army following along. It felt natural, what he’d done for so long now. And Dedue was a good travel partner. 

He was quiet, that already made him better than Byleth in his travels. And he didn’t insist on holding his hand, which was a plus. In fact, it was merely comfortable silence that fell between the two men, and no hands were held, and nobody was nagged incessantly. 

Wonderful. 

Dimitri sat on a mossy log and rested his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee. Dedue pulled the scarf from around his neck and shook out a leaf. They had just gone through a rough patch in the woods, steep from the decline of the mountain. Dimitri knew this area, they had traveled far from Garreg Mach in just five hours or so, with very little breaks inbetween. Dedue was not one to complain. He wrapped his scarf back around his neck and sighed, eyes closing, “Your Highness, would you like me to find some water?”

The ground felt soft beneath his feet, despite the lack of rain in the area. He glanced towards the trees, covered in moss. “We’re most likely near a stream. I’ll get a drink when we get closer.”

“As you wish.”

A beat of comfortable silence. Dedue shifted on his feet, and leaned against the thick trunk of a tree. Dimitri sighed and rubbed at his knees - they hurt, sometimes, on cold days. He felt like an old man at the age of 23. He supposed hiking every day for the last five years could do that to someone. 

Dedue stared past the prince’s shoulder, zoned out. He rarely looked so stuck inside of his head, so concerned. His face showed more emotion than what was normal. Dimitri watched with a narrowed eye, and a frown. 

Lambert wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Glenn shifted in the back of his mind with suspicion. Everybody was so oddly quiet. 

“What?” He spat out, wanting answers that the ghosts in his mind refused to give, “Why do you look like that?”

Dedue blinked and came back down to Fodlan, now looking at Dimitri with wide eyes, “Oh, I apologize, your Highness. I didn’t realize I was looking a certain way.”

Lambert would usually offer a plausible explanation by now. Unnerved by the silence, he scowled, “What is it?”

“I was just…” he looked at the soft ground, at the leaves and the greenery, “thinking about Mercedes. I hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to her much in the last week.”

Mercedes was a busy-body who was far too weak for her own good. She looked at Dimitri as if she was diagnosing every illness inside of him. Her chin always wrinkled with pity. 

So, he grunted in response, disinterested. 

Brows furrowed, Dedue continued to stare at the ground, “Have you thought about the professor much, your Highness?”

About once every minute or so, inbetween everything else that raged in his mind. He would not say that, though, since he didn’t enjoy admitting it. He shrugged loosely, “What does it matter?”

He sighed, “I suppose you’re right. We should focus on the battle at hand.”

The battle where he would finally have Edelgard’s head.

If only he could think of a way to get to her.

“I admit that I can’t cut down the Imperial army myself,” he scowled, irritation flickering across his face, “and I doubt they’re even at Gronder yet. We could arc West and find her camp, and I could come in at night…”

“And then be killed on your way out.”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He only got to the part where cut off her head - after making her apologize for killing his entire family and ruining his life, of course - and after that it got a bit fuzzy. He lost interest at that point. 

Dedue watched him with intelligent eyes. He was like Byleth in that way, always reading the prince so well. It was frustrating. Scowling, Dimitri returned his gaze, “I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.”

“If I may be honest-“

“You may not.”

“You’re going to die if you do that. It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

There were no other options, and no other possibilities. He had considered sending a harshly worded letter - attached to the end of an arrow, aimed at the spot beside her head, shot by himself - that challenged her to a one on one duel to the death. Yet, he didn’t have a bow, and he had no parchment nor chalk, and he was certainly not about to throw his spear. 

And he was doubtful that Edelgard would agree to such a thing anyway. 

Sighing through his teeth, Dimitri shut his good eye as if he could shut out the world. Even if his world was especially quiet as of late. “Why did you follow me then? To hinder me?”

“To help you.”

“Then help me get her head!”

A sigh, “Not if that is what will get you killed, your Highness.” 

Unbelievable, at least to Dimitri. Perhaps he should’ve tried harder to leave him behind after all, then he would not have this brick wall between him and the Emperor. Dedue could hold him back if he really wanted to, despite the strength of the Blaiddyd crest. He grew up with him, he knew how to get past the inhuman blows and the stamina the crest allowed. Dimitri was not as untouchable as he preferred to believe. 

And frankly, he was going to do it anyway. It was for the betterment of the world, for Edelgard to die. In his eyes, he would be doing mankind a favor. 

He stood up and made his way down the hiking path, pushing aside tree branches and thorns as he went. He could hear Dedue following behind, yet would not look at him. “You cannot stop me, I will do whatever it takes to have her head.”

A sigh, “I don’t enjoy doing this, your Highness. It’s… difficult for me to speak to you this way. But, I must ask,” he rested a gloved hand on his shoulder, watching him stop in his tracks and stiffen as he spoke, “do you not think of Faerghus? Do you not realize what would happen if you never came back to take Fhirdiad away from Cornelia? And your wife… Do you care for Byleth so little that you would leave her alone in the world?”

Dimitri perhaps cared too much. He could never be as untouchable as Dedue. The only thing he didn't seem to care about was his own life. In a moment of weakness, years ago, he had admitted his fear of the future, his fear of living. He had his one goal, his revenge, and he knew that after that was over, there would be nothing left for him. 

Now, there was something left for him. There was Byleth. There was Faerghus. Dedue spoke quietly, “I cannot allow you to do something that may end up taking your life, there’s more to look forward to after you kill the Emperor.”

“I…” he was stiff, quiet, looking at his feet on the leaf covered ground, “I have a hard time believing that. _Truly_ believing it,” he lifted his face to the sky, “I feel as if this is all I’ve ever known.”

“...Would you like to go back, your Highness?”

No. Yes. No, not for anything in the world. Edelgard was to be at Gronder, where he could finally end her life. He would not pass up that opportunity for anything. 

He simply had to not die while doing so. 

Dedue’s question required no answer. Dimitri merely huffed, and moved forward so his hand fell away, off of his shoulder and back to his side. He stepped over a tree root sticking up from the ground, dodged a thorny bush, and kept walking through the forest - towards his fate. 

His silence was answer enough. Sighing, Dedue followed, knowing that he could not keep the prince’s determination at bay. 

Yet, a group of knights on horseback could. 

They approached as loudly as ever, with no care for being silent. Their hooves pounded on the ground and tore up the soft dirt of the forest. Dedue stiffened as he heard the call, “They’re over here!” It echoed through the trees. 

How had he not noticed them long ago? He looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of an armored knight of Seiros atop a brown horse, surrounded by three other knights who watched him with curious eyes. Perhaps his conversation with Dimitri had distracted him enough to not hear the sound of a cavalry approaching through the hiking trail. 

Beside him, Dimitri had pulled out his lance. He held it in his right hand, knees bent, ready to fight his way through the group that was circling them. In front of him, a knight rode his horse onto the trail and blocked the way, coming out from the thick foliage that surrounded the prince. 

“Dammit,” he swore, “I should’ve known to take another route.” It was so much easier to walk the trails he already knew, yet the knights of Seiros knew the mountains just as well as he did. Opposite of Dimitri’s irritation, Dedue found himself relieved. He nodded to the knights as they parted to allow their commander to approach.

Dimitri straightened up to gaze at the leader. His lance hung loosely at his side, tip digging into the ground while he stared down the man. His gaze was flat, and lips set into a thin line. He looked as if he had expected it, and was annoyed he hadn't outran the search party in time.

“Been tracking you all day, your Highness.”

A scowl, “Gustave. Explain yourself.”

The Dominic man kept his cool with all the wisdom of a trained knight. He had always handled Dimitri well, the boy he helped raise from infancy. He lifted his chin, “The Archbishop sent us to stall you so the rest of the army could catch up.”

He furrowed his brows and huffed, “I do not _need_ an army!”

“I think you _do_ ,” unamused with the antics of his Highness, he gazed at him like a father would a rebelling son. There was something akin to that relationship between the two, as much as Gilbert tried to forget it, “It will go much better with an army.”

How Dimitri hated being a part of something so large, with so many people. He could do without all of the eyes on him all of the time. Scowling, he rested the lance on his shoulder and straightened up, nearly looking casual as he eyed his retainer. “Who did you say sent you?”

A smile, “The Archbishop. Newly installed and everything. This was her first command.”

He narrowed his gaze, “ _Who_?”

“Your wife.”

Shock hit him like a slap to the face. He wasn’t sure who else it would ever be. It seemed natural, even, that the Goddess herself run the church. And the army had been disorganized for so very long that an official leader would do them some good. He could not be that person in this state, and Seteth had other responsibilities to worry about. They had been held together by Rodrigue and Gilbert, but even that was weak, like old glue that threatened to tear apart any moment then.

And that new leader was his wife. The Archbishop. His future Queen - if he was ever to live that long.

Unimaginable. 

Could an Archbishop even be married?

Gilbert noticed the confusion flashing across the prince’s face. Dedue took a step towards the knights and cast Dimitri a glance, “Your Highness, we should wait for the troops to arrive.”

He snapped out of his confusion and ignored Dedue, instead glaring at Gilbert atop his horse, “ _Byleth_ sent you?”

“The Archbishop, yes.”

“Stop saying that,” an almost childish scowl crossed his face, “Byleth. My wife. Technically, the princess consort of Faerghus-”

“You’re acting quite noble today, your Highness.”

“ _Shut up_. Last I checked, she was _not_ the Archbishop.” Which was not very long ago at all, unless she had not told him the news. That was unlikely, the woman could not keep a secret if it meant her life.

Gilbert nodded, “She took the position today.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

Anger. Mild irritation at being stopped mid-journey by a group of knights sent by her. Betrayal, just the slightest - what did she need to be Archbishop for? She was literally the future Queen of an entire country. Wariness, and suspicion. A smidge of worry that he refused to acknowledge.

Byleth, the Archbishop who held the spirit of a Goddess inside of her, now was the leader of one of the most powerful organizations in Fodlan. Possibly the _most_ powerful and influential. She was smart, she had the intelligence to restore Garreg Mach to it’s former glory, and then some. She could command battalions of soldiers to come after him and stop him from enacting his revenge. She had a whole army at her fingertips. She had faithful followers. She was the Goddess.

He _knew_ that she was too good for him. He’d always known it. This was the undeniable proof of it all. 

“You look troubled, your Highness.”

He snapped back to meet Gilbert’s gaze, “What do you intend to do? Tie me up and keep me from moving?”

“If I must.”

“When will the rest of the army be here?”

A rugged smile that reminded him of the knight he used to be. Gustave Dominic, knight of Faerghus, the man who taught him how to wield a blade. He looked at Dimitri as if he was his own son, “Well actually, we’re going to meet them at Gronder in a week's time. We even brought you a horse."

"How could the army get there so quickly?"

"The Archbishop is gathering her troops as we speak. We should arrive a day or so before the Imperial army."

Of course she was on the move so quickly. He knew he would have her coming after him for this. He could not outrun the knights and their horses, nor did he have the energy to fight them off. Dedue even looked as if he wanted to stay at Gilbert's side, rather than follow Dimitri to his death.

It was no use to run. Accepting his fate, he turned away and brushed past the knight blocking his path, heading towards the reserved horse meant for him. “Let’s go, then. We can’t be late. The dead wait for no one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had plans to include the battle of Gronder in this chapter, but it was already so long. So, I've reserved that for the next chapter, and it'll be Funnn  
> If you liked it, have any questions, or any suggestions, then please don't hesitate to comment! I love hearing from you guys! This story is nearing it's end, sadly, we've only got a few more chapters to go. So stick with me!


	12. The Battle of the Blaiddyds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence, blood, stay safe my loves <3

_You gave everything you had_

_Every little thing you had_

_A true love unrehearsed_

_I've seen your best and worst_

_And at your worst, you're still the best_

_But at my best, I am the worst_

"Lydia" - Highly Suspect

* * *

  
  


Gilbert was right in his prediction of arriving at Gronder Field before the Imperial army. The extra day to prepare would give them a certain leeway over their enemies, allowing them to be ready when Edelgard and her troops finally arrived. 

Or, on the other hand, they could be ambushed in the night. That was always a possibility. 

“Hubert most likely already knows we’re here, that snake. He’s probably got something planned.” Dimitri, sitting atop his horse and scowling at the field below as if he was imagining the battle playing out before his eyes. It was peaceful, then, almost pretty in it's overgrown way. Yet, the prince looked at the plains as if they disgusted him.

Gilbert wasn’t sure who ‘Hubert’ was. The name was familiar, calling to mind a dark clad man. He had never gotten a chance to know all of the students in the academy days, and the stand-offish look of Edelgard’s right hand man had always kept him from doing so with the Black Eagles particularly. If Hubert was the man who planned every battle, then he was certainly an intelligent foe - Gilbert’s least favorite to fight. But if he could not _outsmart_ the enemy, he could certainly out-hit them. 

And Byleth, despite her blinding optimism, could most likely go toe-to-toe against this Hubert fellow. With her focus renewed and off of his Highness, she would be prepared for any guerilla warfare, ambushes, or spies in their midst. 

Gilbert could hear the army approaching from miles away. The Kingdom/Church army mobilized rather quickly, though it was smaller than their enemies. While the size was worrying, the speed was spectacular. In just a week’s time, they arrived at Gronder with the blue and silver flags flying. It was difficult to miss the sound of horses, carriages, and clattering armor through the mountains. The noise traveled through the passage they took, and reached his ears even in their small, hidden camp.

Dimitri insisted on setting up his tent on the cliff overlooking the field. Rhea had stood there just five years prior, watching the battle below. It was the best vantage point of the entire area, and it’s proximity to where the Kingdom army would be traveling made it so only _they_ could claim it. Dimitri sat on the edge, legs crossed over each other, scowling at the waving grass below. 

When the academy was thriving, they would often send groups to trim the fields and keep it tidy for mock battles. After five years, nature had reclaimed it's home. It was a sea of high weeds, cut through by the raging river at the base of the Northern cliffside. The hill in the middle was overgrown, having lost the archery stand long ago. Yet, it was still wood, it would still burn. This entire field would be up in flames if Byleth’s latest discovery as Archbishop worked well enough.

Gilbert’s group arrived days before the army itself. They camped in the safe area on the cliff, hidden by the trees. Dimitri stayed to himself on the edge of the camp and fiddled with Areadbhar, his wedding ring, a tree branch - he sharpened it to make an extra spear, before Gilbert offered him a steel one. The lost prince was too used to making weapons out of whatever he could find, and often forgot that he had sturdier materials on hand these days. He remained quiet, staring into the distance at nothing. He would scowl at the battlefield as if expecting Edelgard to appear any moment then. She never did, obviously, and he would return to his brooding in the corner. Gilbert's only solace in the odd silence was that his glare had lessened in the last several days.

He wasn’t sure what it was about Dimitri that had changed. The difference was entirely too subtle for someone who didn’t know him to notice. Fortunately, Gilbert had known the man since he was a baby, and he could see a flicker of _something_. Something different. Dimitri wore the same face as the boy five years ago did, albeit older and more grown into himself. He furrowed his brows the same, he pursed his lips the same. His eyes were even clear for a moment, before he zoned out once more. 

The future King was deep in thought. About what, nobody had any idea. Not even Dedue could read the expression behind his gaze. 

The Kingdom/Church army sounded like thunder as they approached. Dimitri perked up to the sound, and glanced over his shoulder to the cliff’s edge. Through the trees ahead, the flash of a blue banner caught his eye. It danced in the heavy winds of the plains. 

He stood instantly. Gripping his lance, he rested the blade on his shoulder. With the lack of his cloak and furs, he looked far more thin than usual. Yet, that could not erase his height, his imposing countenance. Impassively, he gazed out at the sea of bodies pouring into the grassland below. 

Dedue pushed himself up from his spot in front of their campfire. He sighed and shook out his scarf, while Gilbert continued to sit beside him, sharpening his ax. The knights of Seiros around them gathered themselves together to join the rest of the army below. 

Gilbert remained uneffected by the arrival of his allies, “The Empire is still a ways away. We’d have heard their drums by now.”

“Like I said,” Dimitri bristled, “Hubert is too intelligent to not know our whereabouts. I doubt they would waste energy on their drummers for this.” Edelgard was not one for much fanfare either. Her generals often accompanied full bands, yet _she_ was the one leading this fight. It would be simple, quick, and clean. He knew how his sister preferred things to work.

He brushed past Gilbert and Dedue and stalked into the open air. The trees parted to reveal the edge of the cliff, clear and grassy. He neared the side, and watched the scramble of his soldiers as they attempted to set up their camps. Like ants, they ran about, trading supplies from hand to hand, and taking their positions in preparation.

It was good for them to be on this side of the river, they were far less accessible that way. Dimitri eyed the Eastern pass, where the Alliance army would most likely come from. They had the advantage of the flattest part of the plains, where the fighting would go the most smoothly. If Edelgard had her way, she would choose the Southern rocky part, scattered with trees and the overgrown fortress. 

He wasn’t sure what his wife was planning for this battle. Gustave had received a carrier owl - the beasts with wings had taken a shine to Byleth since Rhea’s disappearance - with the battle plans scribbled out in her bubbly handwriting. Dimitri took no interest in reading them - he did not need a plan for what he was going to do. Below the cliff, he caught sight of soldiers setting up a large tent. A flash of mint green stole his gaze before she disappeared behind the tent wall to assist in driving the stakes down. She was the Archbishop now, of course she would have a huge tent. 

He scowled. Archbishop Byleth Blaiddyd. It didn’t sound natural. 

But he supposed that he should greet his lovely wife. It'd been a week since she had nagged him, she was probably looking forward to it.

On the cliffside sat a rocky trail leading down to the Northern pass where the army was setting up. He made a beeline towards the footpath and skidded across overgrown tree roots and mossy rocks. Several knights passed him by as they carried equipment for trebuchets and archery stands in their hands. Dimitri ignored their suspicious, fearful eyes and kept walking.

Once he reached the bulk of the camp, nobody paid him much attention. He caught sight of Felix and Rodrigue leaning over a map, with Annette bringing them tea. They had only arrived minutes ago, and they were already settling in. He scowled, knowing that they should not get so comfortable. He would be a fool to think that Hubert did not have a surprise planned. 

The sound of the rushing river overpowered most conversations. It had started raining in this area last week, and the water levels were high. It was good for them as no enemy calvary could cross. The only problem was that their _own_ calvary could not make it through either. He watched Sylvain stand at the edge of the river and stare into the water as if he was trying to solve that exact problem - getting a horse over that cramped and weathered bridge would be harder than assumed.

Among the tall grass, Byleth’s tent loomed. She was nearly hidden by the overgrowth when she leaned down to drive a stake into the ground. Her head popped up, light green filling his sight. He ignored how his heart contracted in his chest. 

She had not noticed him yet. Her voice carried over the noise of the army as she sent a smile to a nearby soldier, “Yeah, we’ll have a party at my place tonight.”

A whistle, a laugh. Another soldier snorted, “Sleepover at the Archbishop’s!”

They would never dare to joke that way with Rhea. He had never seen strangers comfortable with Byleth, and he wasn’t sure if it was his lack of presence that calmed them, or her new position. No matter the reason, his stomach boiled with anger as a male soldier clapped her on the shoulder and sent her a wolfy grin. 

“Archbishop, you could get the whole army in here! We can cuddl- uh… oh…”

Byleth froze. She eyed the knight as he trailed off, his eyes wide and his face pale. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost. 

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest and stared. He bore holes through the man, daggers that cut off that damn grin of his. “No, finish what you were saying. Please.” 

Finish speaking of how he wanted to cuddle with his wife, or the jokes about sharing a tent with the Archbishop. Finish flirting with her and smiling as if you knew her. Finish ignoring the ring on her finger that told the world how she was already claimed. Dimitri had even been polite, saying 'please' and everything. He would be patient to hear the rest.

“Y-Your Highness!” The man gulped and backed away, while Byleth cast an uninterested glance over her shoulder at her husband, “I-It’s so good to see you!”

A loose, mocking smile, “ _Is it?_ "

It was not. He knew of his countenance, and the effect it had on the soldiers. The man looked pale as a sheet, while Byleth only snorted at his answer and returned to setting up her tent. The guard bowed in a terrified show of submission, “I-I’m glad to s-see that you got here safely!”

“Oh, I bet you are.”

He paled further. He knew what he had been doing, taking his opportunity while the prince was not around. These men were like wolves, striking at the safest possible moments. Byleth straightened up and faced her husband fully, hammer and stake in her hands gripped tightly like a weapon. Her mouth set into a frown as she glared at him, “Dimitri, stop it. Don’t terrorize my soldiers.”

_His_ soldiers. This was _his_ army. He sent her a mocking look, “I’m the King, I can do what I wish.”

Her face contorted in barely concealed anger, “ _I’m_ the Archbishop. You’ve not even been coronated yet. _I_ have the higher position here.”

“Oh, like hell you do-“

“You’re dismissed, Blaiddyd,”

He froze, befuddled. _He_ was dismissed? _Him_? She looked at him as if he was a regular soldier and _not_ her husband. With the hint of amusement sparking behind her eyes, she turned away to walk to the other side of the tent. Soldiers stepped out of the way as Dimitri kept on her heels, “What is the meaning of this?”

“The meaning of what?”

“Don’t act so innocent!” He grabbed her arm, turning her around to look at him. Angry green eyes met blue, and he loosened his grip as he realized the amount of strength he held her with. Scowling he leaned in, “What possessed you to become Archbishop?”

Byleth tore her arm from his hand and held it close to herself, glaring, “I’m simply focusing on what’s important. This army needs a leader, and if you’re not going to do it then I will. What’s your problem with that?” 

It wasn’t as if he particularly _cared_ about being a leader, but what _was_ his problem with that? It ate away at him, an emotion he couldn’t even begin to understand. He had no answer for her, or for himself. 

Byleth eyed him as if he disgusted her. Snorting, she turned away to return to her work, “Don’t blame your insecurities on me, your Highness,” the use of his title struck at his heart, yet she went on, “I’ve nothing to do with those.”

He could only wonder if it _was_ insecurity that ate away at him. He didn’t feel threatened by her, there was no reason to. He had no lust for power, and no love for his position. Her being Archbishop would not get in the way of him killing Edelgard. 

So, what was it?

He had no idea. 

“Byleth,” he followed at her heels once more, speaking under his breath so no eavesdropping soldiers would hear, “what’s your reason for acting like this?”

It was the whip that broke the camel's back. The final thread holding her together, worn thin and flimsy. It snapped. _She_ snapped.

Byleth whipped around to face him, holding up an accusatory finger, “Why do you care? Why are you so interested? I thought you didn’t give a damn about me!”

A scowl, “I have never said that-”

“You _have_! You literally have so many times!” She was screeching now, drawing the attention of everybody in the premises, “You’ve not only _said_ it, you’ve shown it! How dare you try to go after the Emperor alone,” fury contorted her features into something beautiful, something shocking. The sword of the creator pulsated at her hip as she spoke, “How _dare_ you care so little for your friends and family, for your country! You would just leave us all behind, and do you know why that is?"

He didn't like to think about the answer to that. He'd been thinking about it this entire week, brooding quietly in the corners of the camps, wondering about life and whether or not he deserved to live it - whether he _wanted_ to live it or not. He was tired of thinking of such things.

Byleth seethed, continuing on without waiting for his answer, "It's because you're selfish! Living sucks, Dimitri!” She threw her hands up, “Get used to it, and stop being a self centered asshole! The world needs you more than you know!”

Unsaid words. Hurt flickering behind her rage. _She_ needed him more than he knew, and he did not seem to even care. 

Byleth had never raised her voice in that way. She had argued with him before, yelled at him, but never before had she screamed such truths. All eyes landed on him, standing aimlessly in front of his furious wife. He had no idea what his face looked like, what expression he wore, or what he could even say in response to her words. Was there even a response _possible_ to that sort of thing? 

And why did the apology at the forefront of his mind resist so much? Forcing out the words ‘I’m sorry’ was like pulling teeth. 

The apology never came. Dimitri opened his mouth to say it, but it would not unravel from the web of his mind. Byleth continued to glare with that flicker of hurt hidden beneath angry eyes and a frown. 

“Dima,” her voice shook, quieter now, “I am giving you one last chance. I have given you _so_ _many_. And this is the last one.”

A flicker of something unknown in his chest, “A… chance?”

She nodded, “Yes. You will have a decision to make soon, and I hope you choose correctly.”

Cryptic, suspicious, and unreadable. Without another word, she turned on her heel and rounded the corner of her tent. The onlookers remained quiet with absolute shock, Dimitri himself joining them in their tense silence. 

He shifted his gaze towards Rodrigue. The man stood with straight shoulders, with a concerned expression gracing his features. As he met Dimitri’s eyes, he began a quick stride through the crowd towards him, like mother racing after her fallen child. Wordless, Dimitri watched him approach.

He reached out a hand, an offer of peace that slid across his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly, “Come, I’ll show you the formations we've planned."

How _little_ he cared for formations. How _little_ he cared about this damn army and their plans. “Fine.” He caved, if only for the distraction of it all. 

He followed Rodrigue through the parting crowd towards his table on the edge of the camp. As Dimitri passed through, the murmur of the people began to resume once more. Slowly, they returned to normal, only sending subtle glances towards the prince as he pointedly ignored them. 

It was odd. Dimitri did not even know Byleth had been mad at him.

Felix scowled upon seeing Dimitri, yet he kept his mouth shut for once. Rodrigue stopped and took his hand from his shoulder, now pointing at the markings on the map, “We’ll put the archers here, and the calvary over here.” Dimitri watched his finger slide against the parchment. Byleth’s handwriting stood out to him from the corner of the page, bubbly and curly, oddly girly for the ex-mercenary, _‘two battalions on D at all times!!!’_

His throat croaked against the rock stuck inside of it, “I don’t need two battalions.”

Rodrigue tilted his head and grimaced, “Archbishop’s orders, sorry.”

“I don’t give a damn about the Archbishop’s orders.”

Both Fraldarius men eyed him as if he was stupid. They heard the conversation, they knew that now, of all times, he should give the _most_ _damns_ about her orders. Dimitri ignored their stares and continued to gaze at the map. He could not take in whatever information it presented, his mind was miles away. 

A choice, she had said. He had never been good at making choices. He was far too impulsive, far too emotionally charged. And he could not read past the betrayal on her face to tell whatever it was that she was planning. 

His voice croaked again, “What did she mean?”

Rodrigue looked up in surprise at the question. Felix snorted and backed away, “I want none of this. Enjoy wrangling the boar.”

“Fe… ugh,” he shook his head as his son left the scene, “Listen, your Highness, I really don’t know. Byleth has been cryptic all week.”

She was rarely cryptic. She could have a poker face when she truly wanted to, but for the most part she was an open book. She never truly bothered hiding how she felt about anything. It was one of her most charming traits, her bluntness. 

He narrowed his gaze at Rodrigue, “How?”

A shrug, “She’s not said a word about you. I asked her about how she was doing and she entirely avoided my question. It’s as if she’s been planning something - other than the battle, of course.”

_“You will have a decision to make soon, and I hope you choose correctly.”_

She had no idea the effect her words had on him. For the first time in a long time, he was anxious. He was worried. He felt as if he was about to throw up. 

“You’re pale,” Rodrigue whispered, hand on his shoulder. Gently, he began steering him to the campfire Mercedes’ tended nearby, “let’s get some food.”

He would not refuse the offer, for once. He didn’t feel as if he could go on any longer without it. Dedue approached from the trail off the side of the cliff, eyes locked onto Mercedes, who tended to a pot of soup over the fire. Of course the first thing she would do when setting up camp would be to start dinner. 

Rodrigue sat Dimitri down on a stump, letting the heat of the flames fan his cheeks. He took the spot next to him and sent a fatherly smile, “When’s the last time you ate?”

Damn questions, damn concern. He didn’t need any of it. He was slowly coming back down from the clouds as he closed his eyes and ignored Mercedes’ and Rodrigue’s pitying smiles. He couldn’t take the sight of them. Even Dedue looked at him warily as he approached. 

“I’m fine,” a growl, as he rubbed his throbbing temple, “mind yourselves.”

Mercedes hummed and continued to cut up the meat on the board in her lap. Dedue took another cutting board and sat beside her, starting on a batch of carrots to add to the soup. Dimitri opened his eyes to look at them, in their own world across the fire, nudging each other’s shoulders with secret, subtle affection. 

It was undeniable that the two had something between them, whatever it was. Neither of them seemed to ever want to name it. Five years prior, Dimitri had even given Dedue advice on how to speak to Mercedes' - and it was absolutely terrible advice, he didn't even know how to speak to Byleth then. Now, Dimitri sat across from them, watching the humble flirtation between the two.

Bitterness bloomed onto his features. A frown, a glare. Dedue caught his gaze and stiffened. He scooted further away from Mercedes’, looking almost embarrassed, “Apologies, your Highness.”

Mercedes’ whispered a soft ‘I’m sorry’, before Dimitri scowled at them both, “What? Afraid to show affection for fear of my frail heart?” His words were a hiss, filled with venom, “Do not worry, I’m not jealous.”

Rodrigue grimaced. Dimitri continued to rub at his temples and ignored the quiet reactions of those around him. The feeling of Rodrigue’s hand on his back seemed to be the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. 

“Oh!” The older man lit up suddenly, “Byleth has your cloak! Would you like me to grab it, your Highness?”

Yes. And no. It would smell like her by now. But he needed something to hide behind. 

All he could offer was an impassive nod. Rodrigue stood from his spot and turned away, “I’ll be right back.”

Mercedes watched him leave with wide eyes. She would never allow herself to look hesitant, but she moved slowly as if any instant movements would startle the wild animal across from her. Dedue remained comfortable as he chopped the carrots. He balanced the cutting board on his knees and meticulously sliced through the vegetables as if it were life and death. 

Dimitri stared at the couple. It was a relief to see Dedue with someone else, a promise that his life would have something worth living for if Dimitri ever died. Even if Mercedes was terrible at cutting bear meat. Bear was especially tough prepare, and she struggled with the cutting board in her lap, forcing the knife through the muscles and fat. Dimitri had hunted, skinned, and cooked many bears in his lifetime, and that was not how one filleted the meat. 

He huffed and held out his hand, “Give that here.”

Mercedes look up with wide eyes. She held the knife in the air, confused at the sudden offer from the boar prince in front of her. Dimitri bore holes into her with his good eye, his lips set into a thin line, and hand held out to her. 

Befuddled, she slowly handed over the knife. Dimitri swiped it away and held out his other hand, “The cutting board.”

Dedue stared. Mercedes remained shocked. She pushed the cutting board towards him, allowing him to take it from her lap. He leaned back and positioned the board on his knees and began grinding away at the layer of fat on the meat. 

“Game meat isn’t like livestock,” he grumbled, just loud enough for his companions to hear, “you don’t want fat on there.”

She didn’t know that, she very rarely had to eat bear. Dedue eyed the prince as he tore the fat off and tossed it aside, “Your Highness, excuse me, but… I thought you could not taste food?”

Dimitri looked up, “I can’t. It’s the texture that bothers me.”

He hadn’t even cared about texture as of late. Dimitri would often just eat whatever Byleth brought him, and even that was very little. Yet, there he sat, cutting up meat and tossing it into the stew pot as if he’d done this a million times. As if he wasn’t a feral man who cared so little for his own body. 

It was almost normal. They’d had a lot of _almost_ normals lately. 

The rest of the army had forgotten about the Archbishop and prince’s spat earlier, now fully focused on their tasks at hand. They only had one night to set up their camps before the Imperial army arrived, and they were scrambling to prepare. Rodrigue held Dimitri’s folded blue cloak as he slipped through the rushing crowd. He froze upon seeing Dimitri assisting in the cooking, and a smile instantly bloomed onto his lips. Quietly, he set the cloak down beside his adoptive son. Dimitri sent him an impassive glance before returning to his food preparation. He was calm, he was doing something other than brooding, and he was not yelling at anybody. 

“I’m proud of you, Dima.”

A grunt, a scowl. He would not respond, he had nothing to say to that. In his mind, there was nothing to be proud of. He was, as Byleth said, a self-centered asshole. He couldn’t argue with her statement, he knew that it was true. 

It would be another two hours before the bear stew would be ready. After cutting the meat, Dimitri moved to the edge of the river to rinse off his hands. Sylvain sat on the grass with his boots off and rested his feet in the water, Ingrid beside him doing the same. They watched as Dimitri leaned down to dip his hands in, eyes wide and curious. 

It was the same with Ashe, who was putting together arrows on the side of the camp. He stared at Dimitri as he stalked by. Followed by Annette, who nearly dropped her teacup in surprise when Dimitri entered the supplies tent to grab a fork for the stew. 

Flayn was next. Rather than surprise, she only grinned. She watched as he stirred around the pot, and let out a small squeal that earned a glare from him. Seteth stood at her side and nodded like a proud, stern father. Then Gilbert, who patted his shoulder as he passed. And Felix even appraised him with something akin to satisfaction. 

It was all really, very annoying how everybody gave him attention. Everybody besides the one person he truly wanted it from. 

Not that he would admit it. He would not even acknowledge how his good eye followed Byleth across the battlefield as she moved through the tall grass. He would not acknowledge how much he wished she would come near him. And he would _especially_ not acknowledge how his heart felt when she refused to look at him. 

He was correct in assuming that the cloak smelled like her. He wore it on his shoulders and took in that scent of strawberries. How she managed to smell like fruit during a war was beyond him. 

It was maddening to have the constant reminders of her anger. He would look towards the sound of her laughter, and catch her making jokes with a few knights, entirely ignoring him. He would see her out of the corner of his eye, smiling at a soldier and giving directions - pointedly avoiding his gaze. She even walked past him at one point, mouth set into a frown, and eyes blank. She would not even spare a glance.

Maddening. Everybody was giving him attention for once, everybody besides her. He felt like a vagabond on the street, begging for something, _anything_. Even a morsel of her attention would've satiated his desire.

By the time night fell, he found himself striding towards her tent. She had opened it for the use of strategic meetings and tactical planning. Maps and plans had scattered across the floor around her bed. The door had been open all night, until Dimitri began to approach. 

Byleth caught sight of him and retreated back inside. Everybody was beginning to settle down for the night, besides the soldiers keeping watch on the edges of the camp. Fires blazed around the sea of tents, golden and flickering shadows dancing across the ground. Dimitri picked up his speed as Byleth pulled her head back in from the entrance, and lifted the flap to close it. 

“Wait-”

He hated how desperate he sounded. He hated to beg. He refused to. Yet, there his tongue went, sounding so pitiful as he reached for Byleth. 

He could not make it in time. She buttoned her flap closed, shutting him away from her. He stopped in front of the tent door and stood there, listening for any sound of her movement on the inside. 

She was quiet. He imagined her curling up in her bedroll, the one they had once shared. He imagined her turning her back towards him and shutting her eyes. He stared at the door flap and wondered if she was thinking of him as much as he thought of her. 

So pitiful. _So_ _incredibly_ _pitiful_. 

Lambert and Glenn had been quiet lately, usually they would be screaming by then. It was in that moment that they were silent. They did not bother him, leaving him to insult _himself_ for once. It was odd, the lack of their haunting. The calm and the peace of the camp bothered him. 

He would not get any sleep that night. He did not know where he would even lay down to rest if he wanted to. Dedue had taken down his tent on the top of the cliff, and Byleth obviously did not want him at her side. He wrapped his cloak around him and turned on his heel, heading towards the edge of the camp. He made his way to a small campfire with a few drowsy eyed soldiers keeping watch. He sat on a stump and glanced at the expanse of the prairie before him. 

He wondered where it would happen, Edelgard’s death. He bristled at the thought, killing her and letting her body fall into the sea of grass. She would disappear, and the world would be at peace. Lambert and Glenn could finally rest. _He_ could finally rest. 

Dimitri did not sleep that night. How could he? It was the most important day of his life. 

The camp awoke before the stars ever left. It was not even light out, and tents were unbuttoning and collapsing. The rumble underneath their feet was a good enough alarm. 

Hubert had not attacked the Kingdom/Church army in the middle of the night like Dimitri assumed, yet they were moving too quickly for his taste. The Imperial army was in a hurry to reach the battlefield. Horses clopped against the ground, followed by a thunderous clatter approaching from the South. 

Dimitri leaned with his back against a tree. Out of the corner of his eye, Byleth’s tent entrance opened and she stepped out, her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun, held together by pencils. Her eyes were wide as they shifted to meet Dimitri’s. 

They did not have to be near each other to know what the other was thinking. It was time. 

“Wake up!” The shatter and clash of a wooden spoon against a skillet. Knights rushed around between tents to grab their weapons and shake their comrades awake. A screech, a yelp, a chorus of voices erupting in response to the thundering army drawing closer. The troops were awakening to the rudest of possible scenarios. 

Dimitri stayed calm. Areadbhar rested beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his gaze on the Southern pass, where the army had no choice but to come through. There was no other way they could get to the plains, unless they spread out through the forest. He would not doubt the arrival of pegasus knights flying over the forest, followed by archers through the trees. But Edelgard herself would come through the pass, he knew. 

First, the pawns. The weakest were always first in a game of chess. How his own self from five years ago would’ve hated that thought. 

Dimitri watched a group of soldiers make their way to the bridge that ran over the river. They were spreading out into the grassland, waiting for the first wave of Edelgard’s army to approach. She would not be here quite yet, they had a ways to go before the Queen was vulnerable to his move. 

The pawns. An arrow whizzed through the air and hit a soldier in the neck. The first strike. One down, thousands more to go. 

He sighed, held Areadbhar, and stood. It was time to begin. 

* * *

It took hours for Gronder plain to become a true battlefield. With the sudden arrival of the Alliance forces, even more lives had begun to perish. The noise reached a new high, just as the sun rose in the sky. 

Dimitri had not even gotten to eat breakfast, nobody had. The fighting began so suddenly, so quickly. Before he could cut down a battalion or two, the next wave of the Imperial army arrived through the trees. He caught sight of a pegasus shadow flying over him, an arrow landing at his feet. 

Byleth was nowhere to be seen. The spot at his arm that she would usually be at was empty, and he found himself watching his back moreso than usual. He didn’t have her to block unseen blows for him now. 

Another hour passed. It became clear very soon that the Alliance army could not tell between Kingdom soldiers and Imperial. Left and right, gold mixed with blue, flashes of maroon and crimson red weaved throughout the chaos. Edelgard was nowhere to be seen, not yet. Dimitri warmed up with fighting a group of swordmasters, his battalion left behind in his wake of destruction.

Another hour. The river was doing it’s job of holding calvary at bay. Ingrid ruled the skies with her band of pegasus knights, while Ashe remained on the highest cliff with his archers, standing beside the flaming trebuchets. Yet another hour. Another kill, and Dimitri was not tired yet. Byleth had not shown her face. He wondered where she could be, and secretly hoped that she was safe. He preferred to have her in his sight during battles.

He felt as if he did not have control over his own body. His hands and feet moved of it’s own accord, reflexes reacting to the chaos around him. A dodge of a spear, a duck under an ax. A stab, a swipe, a kick. He elbowed a man in the teeth, then swung around to cut his head off. 

The battle roared. It was deafening, with ineligible yells across the field. The grass was trampled down and covered with bodies. Dimitri stepped over a corpse to reach a brawler, side stepping his fist and delivering a blow to his stomach instead. Only to finish him off as he stumble away from the assault. The war was waged in seconds, almost. He did not even realize the passing of the day, if not for the sun growing brighter overhead. 

He caught a glimpse of Claude arriving on the other side of the plain, standing atop a supplies cart to gain a better view of the chaos. Dimitri easily could’ve launched a spear at him, yet he knew that the man was observant enough to evade the assault. He watched as his clever gaze shifted towards him, and grinned at the sight of the blood covered prince in the tall grass. 

He waved a gloved hand as if they were old friends - they were, in a way. Dimitri raised his in return, and promptly stabbed an Alliance soldier racing at him with a dagger. He caught a glimpse of Claude flinching and grimacing at the sight of his soldier being taken down so easily.

If Claude was there, then it was time for Edelgard to arrive as well. Dimitri turned around to scan the rest of the plains, looking for any sign of her among the chaos. She wore bright red armor, she would not be hard to miss. Instead, he caught sight of Bernadetta making her way to the hill in the middle of the plains. It was overgrown with thick weeds, possibly unstable, yet she slinked onto the top and planted her archery device in the safest spot possible. Dimitri scowled and stepped over the bodies around him to reach her before she could wreak havoc on his allies. 

Bernadetta looked at him, fearful. She sobbed and swiveled the device straight towards him, with Petra standing at her shoulder as her guard. Dimitri dodged the shot, the arrow sticking itself into the ground at his feet. Bernadetta let out a terrified, strangled cry once more. 

“It’s time!” Byleth’s voice, echoing through the battlefield. He paused in his tracks to search for the source of his wife's voice. Her command rippled over the warfare below, as if she calling to her soldiers from above.

A sound unlike any other. A wave of hot wind, an explosion that rang in his ears. Reflexively, he found himself leaning down over his knees and squatting, holding his head and squeezing his good eye shut. It happened without thought or warning. He did not have time to run away before the explosion washed over him, rendering him deaf for just a moment as he knelt on the ground. 

Soldiers fell around him. Some of them survived, scrambling to avoid the blast and debris scattering through the air. Dimitri looked up as his ears rang with a high pitched sound, and watched the archery hill go up in flames.

Above him, Byleth laughed. She sat behind a grim looking Seteth, piloting his wyvern in the clouds above. He could only make out her grey jacket, and her mint hair, as she held something small in her hand. "It's called blackpowder! Wonderful, isn't it?"

Wonderful, yes. A creative name? No. He’d heard rumor of the church keeping such weapons of destruction from the hands of others. Yet, here was the Archbishop, using them to her own advantage. 

Bernadetta and Petra were gone. He'd no idea if they were alive or not, they had been standing on the spot Byleth had dropped the satchel of powder, lit into an explosion of flames by a carefully aimed shot from a mage. Ingrid flew overhead with a grim expression on her face, Annette in the seat behind her with a fire spell engulfing her fingers. Every other pegasus knight had a mage with them, ready to be used to their full potential. He did not even know such things truly existed. They were not extremely powerful, most likely still in the first phases of their invention, but they could set the plains ablaze with just one hit. The grass was dry, letting itself be devoured by the flames of the explosion. 

Black smoke stung at Dimitri’s good eye. He rubbed it and coughed, pushing himself up and setting off in his path of destruction once more. It seemed as if Edelgard had the same idea as his wife, to cause chaos using whatever means possible. From the other end of the plains, a trebuchet loaded with burning material slung back, rocketing through the air and landing on a group of knights heading their way. Debris flew, and the fire spread through the grass instantly. Quickly, it became dangerous to even move. The Alliance and Kingdom armies veered back to the river where the fires would be halted, the water holding it back. Yet, the farther they fell back, the more the Imperial army drew closer. 

It was time. This had gone on long enough.

Dimitri dropped his gaze from the crowd around him. He could waste no more time searching for Byleth, not when fate was staring him in the face. Gripping Areadbhar, he stepped over a patch of flames and walked towards the heart of the Imperial army. 

He dodged an arrow, ducked under an ax. He killed as he went, his cloak flying behind him, burnt at the bottom edges from the spreading fires. He kept his eyes ahead for a glimpse of red armor. 

It was as if Edelgard could sense him approaching. Because in that moment, she appeared. 

His heart clenched inside of his chest. He buzzed with energy, lips growing into an excited smile. His eyes widened. There she was, standing on a battlement, leaning against the edge with her hands on the stone. Hubert stood at her side, clad in black. 

Eager, he locked eyes with her. It was too far to make out her expression, but he could imagine how she looked at him - as if she was better, as if this war was justified. The pride, the arrogance. He would cut that look right off her face. 

She turned around, followed by Hubert, and made her way down the stairs of the half abandoned fortress. It, like everything else about Gronder field, had been overtaken by nature. It’s skeleton was visible, the stairs she walked down like the guts of a dead behemoth. She claimed every inch of it with an air of royalty that nobody else in the world could have. 

And she was coming to meet him. A family reunion. 

He couldn’t help but laugh from the excitement. Every vein in his body seemed to tickle with anticipation, his lips formed into the widest of grins. The soldiers around him ignored his form as he passed by, they were all preoccupied with their own battles. It was just the way he wanted it, one on one. Edelgard would die, then. And she had chosen her place of death, her grave forevermore. 

Edelgard wore a blank, pitying expression. He strode towards her, while she walked to meet him. They were only 50 feet away from each other, close enough to finally see their faces.

And it was in that moment, the most important moment of his life, that his world decided to stop turning.

“Dimitri.”

He froze. 

His blood ran cold. 

His heart stopped in his chest. 

He had forgotten about Byleth. 

Edelgard stopped in her tracks to watch her ex-professor from afar. She could see the green hair, the dark outfit, the sword pulsating at her hip. She watched with interest as her step brother stiffened, and turned, taking just a moment in his revenge to pay attention to the woman behind him. How could he not? Byleth was difficult to ignore.

It seemed like it was the hardest thing to do, to take his eyes off Edelgard in that moment. She was destiny, looking right at him, just a short run away. She was _waiting_. She was _right_ _there_. Everything he’d been waiting for in the last nine years was _right_ _there_. 

“Look at me.” Byleth commanded.

So he did. 

He turned to gaze at her. She stood in the tall grass, hands at her hips, her eyes sad. Slowly, she raised one hand and held it open towards him. He glanced at her open palm, an offering. Possibly of peace. Possibly of weakness. He wasn’t quite sure. 

“What?”

It sounded harsher than he meant for it to be. 

Byleth’s chest rose with a deep inhale, and exhale. She was preparing herself for something big, “Dimitri, it’s time to choose. And yes, I’m doing it _now_ of all times.”

She could guess what he was thinking just by a simple look. He wore his emotions on his face, his desperation and his fury, his excitement and his anticipation. He was an open book around her. Nervous and excited, every cell in his body wanted to run at Edelgard. Yet, Byleth’s eyes held him in place. 

She opened her mouth to speak, “I want you to make a choice, okay?”

He stared. 

She licked her lips. Her knees were shaking. Her palm was still open, held out to him. “Do you not see the archers? Hubert, waiting to kill you? Do you not see that she will end your life before you even land a finger on her?”

He saw _Edelgard_. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught her staring, interested in the conversation that she could not hear. She had stopped in place, her ax at her side, patient. She had always known when to wait. 

He looked back to Byleth, “Beloved, I-”

“Do _not_ call me that right now!” her hand began to shake, “Dima, I _need_ you to choose.”

No. No, not in a million years. Not for anything. He could not fight against destiny. He could not ignore the sweet song of fate. 

Byleth let out a shuddering breath. The war waged around them, but they were stuck in their own world. 

“Me, or Edelgard?”

His mind was silent. The world was silent. He could not hear the cries of the battle around him, people losing their lives for him and his country. He could not register anything besides Byleth's hand, and Edelgard standing just 50 feet away.

“ _Me_ , or Edelgard?”

She was shaking. Her cheeks were red. Dimitri could only stare.

_“Me, or Edelgard, Dimitri?!”_

It was as if his brain had lost all capability to speak. He was dumbfounded, befuddled, and entirely too shocked. His tongue was heavy, his throat was burdened. His mind was clouded. He was useless, and frozen in place. 

Finally, a glance over his shoulder. His eyes met Edelgard’s. 

She was _right_ _there_. 

Without another thought, he turned to take a step towards the Emperor.

A small clank against his arm broke him from his reverie. He froze, glancing down at whatever small object had hit him. It bounced off his armor and fell to the ground, shining between the grass. His heart skipped as a green gem caught his eye. 

Leaning on Areadbhar, he knelt down to dig Byleth’s wedding ring up from the grass. He held it up to the light. It was still warm from her finger. 

His world fell apart. 

It shattered. It dropped to the ground and lay at his feet. He held the ring between his fingers, _her_ ring. Byleth had thrown it at him, and left. She disappeared through the throngs of battle, and left him behind.

He felt empty, nauseous, so sick as he stared at the glittering green jewel he had picked out specifically for her.

Instantly, Edelgard was forgotten behind him. There was a flash of red armor from the corner of his eye, turning around and retreating in the opposite direction. Her army was losing, and she had no reason to be there any longer. Dimitri registered none of this. Instead, he dropped to his knees. The ground was wet and soft with blood beneath him, still ashy from the fires. The flames roared in various places, turning the sky dark with smoke. He ignored it all, and cradled the ring in his palm. 

He didn’t know what this meant. It should’ve been obvious enough, yet he didn’t have the strength to acknowledge it. 

A shattered heart still pumped, as much as he didn’t want it to. A shattered heart still breathed, keeping his miserable body alive. It was unfair, all of it. Himself, his brain, the things it made him do. The life that he had been given was not something he had chosen, and this is where it led him - to clutching his wife's wedding ring in a bloody field, driving away the only person that had ever dared to love him.

Byleth was nowhere to be found. Rodrigue neared, though Dimitri paid him no mind. He sat, knees on the ground, cradling the ring. It was beautiful in the morning sunlight, and would be far more beautiful on her finger. His own wedding band underneath his glove burned with a fire hotter than the plains themselves. 

The world around him was calming, while his own life raged on. His mind could not think, his tongue could not speak, and his limbs would not move. He felt frozen, captured within himself, while the war was being won. Soldiers moved past him to chase after the remaining Imperial soldiers retreating into the woods. 

Edelgard was gone. He had not even gotten close. 

Byleth was gone, he had gotten _too_ close. 

“Dima!”

Rodrigue, yelling from a distance. It was a fuzzy sound in his ringing ears. He was too far away.

Footsteps. Someone running, panting. The sound of a dagger unsheathing. A terrified gasp of a young girl. 

Complete and utter agony digging through his armor, into his flesh, past his muscles.

“You’re a monster! You killed my brother!” Someone else’s tears fell down onto his shoulder, mingling with the blood of the dagger wound and stinging his open skin, “You deserve death!”

The steel of the blade was cold, the worst feeling in the world, as if it embodied how he felt on the inside. The pain traveled through his body and down to his fingertips. Despite the horror of it all, he managed to turn his head to look at the young girl standing over him as she pulled the dagger out and held it above her head.

“Thank you.”

Her face contorted into confusion. She gripped her weapon with both hands, knuckles white with pressure, “H-Huh?”

He turned his head away to face ahead of him, where Byleth had stood just moments before. He stared at the gathering soldiers as they healed each other, binding up wounds and celebrating their newfound victory. Nobody looked at him, nobody bothered. 

“Just do it.” And aim better this time. She had missed the parts that would kill him. He would heal in no time from a shoulder wound like that. If she _really_ wanted to kill him, she would go lower, and aim for under his rib cage. “I deserve this.”

Another sound of someone running across the ground towards him. Perhaps another assassin, someone to help her end his life. Hopefully. He squeezed his good eye shut and held Byleth’s ring close to his chest, waiting for the fate he so obviously deserved.

A laugh, maniacal, and vengeance filled. It echoed his own from earlier. He’d killed so many people - so who was her brother? At least _one_ person got their revenge on this day, even if it was not him. 

Patient, he waited. His shoulder throbbed in agony. He held the ring to himself, clutching it with all of his strength. 

The next stab never came. 

A body stood above him, arms spread out. Dimitri watched his shadow contort with the impact of the dagger, arms falling to his side and body knelt forward. A gasp, a curse under her breath. Someone’s warm blood splattered onto the back of his head. 

He swung around to see Rodrigue falling to his knees, face first. The girl took a shocked step back, bloodied dagger in hand, before the golden tendril of the sword of the creator whipped through the air and slit her throat. With her eyes wide, and mouth gurgling in a deathly, sickening noise, she fell to her knees. 

Rodrigue took the hit. Dimitri's heart twisted. His world, already shattered, was now broken beyond repair. Byleth rushed to Rodrigue’s side while Dimitri reached out to hold his face. 

He was cold, pale. Blood soaked through the front of his clothes. He looked up at him with kindness. 

“Dimitri, I-”

The world ended. His mind erased. Everything went black. 

* * *

Divine pulse only had three charges. Byleth had her plan, and would hopefully not have to use _all_ _three_ of them to get through this moment. 

First, rewind to Dimitri sitting on his knees in the grass. The scene was before her, his broken face, clutching her wedding ring. She could see the girl stalking him from the crowd, covered by a cloak. The flash a dagger, a grin, and she made her way towards him. 

Then, there was Rodrigue, watching it happen. He was too far away to stop the first stab, but he would make it for the second. Not if Byleth could help it, though, because this girl would die before she could even get near Dimitri. 

The world stopped spinning once she saw the image clearly in her mind. The power of divine pulse ran through her veins, charging her with sheer, godly energy. She opened her eyes, and she was back. 

Dimitri and Rodrigue were alive. Rodrigue was watching, moving quickly over the trampled grass. He could not beat the girl - but Byleth could. 

The sword of the creator morphed into it’s chain-state, striking through the air. With all of her strength, she cut the girl’s head off before she even neared Dimitri. Her body dropped to the ground with a thud, her head rolling. Her eyes were wide open. 

“Dimitri no!”

Rodrigue stood at his back, arms spread. An arrow in his chest. 

"T-This is for killing Ferdie!" A sob from a half burned Bernadetta across the battlefield. She turned on her heel and ran, right as the life left Rodrigue's eyes.

He dropped to his knees. Dimitri cradled his body and buried his face into the crook of his shoulder. It seemed that if the girl did not kill Rodrigue, then fate would find a way for _someone_ to do it.

Byleth sighed. That was just her luck. _Okay, let’s do this again._

Like clockwork, the whirl of the divine pulse. Two left, that was still good. She had enough time. The scene set before her, winding around and around in the most dizzying of ways. She took a deep breath as she imagined the scene. 

The girl, running towards Dimitri, knife out. Rodrigue, running towards the girl, arms spread. Dimitri, on his knees, holding her ring. 

“You’re a monster! You killed my-”

She was dead before she could finish. Byleth swung out her sword, the chain whipping across the sky and cutting off her head mid-sentence. It rolled across the ground. Byleth stepped forward, “Rodrigue stop right there!”

He stopped, confused. His eyes were widened in horror at the young girl’s head in the grass. Dimitri straightened up to look over his shoulder at the horrific sight behind him.

"T-This is for killing Ferdie!" Sobbing, Bernadetta let an arrow loose, whizzing too quickly for Byleth to catch. It was _not_ blocked by Rodrigue’s body this time, and made it’s mark. 

Blood splurting. Dimitri cried in pain, the most horrendous sound she had ever heard. Her heart dropped to her stomach as the arrow lodged itself into the back of his head. 

He was gone. 

She resisted the urge to sob, and tried to clear her head. _Okay, let’s do this again._

One more time. 

One last pulse. 

It had to be right. 

She could not even be dizzy anymore by this point. She had never pulsed so quickly, so many times in one moment. Her legs felt heavy, but she moved them towards her husband. Fast, stumbling over corpses in the grass, breathing heavily. 

She could outrun that girl, and she could outrun Rodrigue. She would block Bernadetta hiding in the trees - she was too far away for her to reach with her sword - and she would use her body as the only shield Dimitri had in that moment. 

Obviously, this _had_ to happen. It was as Sothis said long ago, when she had spent all of her pulses on Jeralt. This is fate. This is unavoidable.

_Someone_ had to die. When destiny demanded lives, it took, no matter who. 

“You’re a monster! You killed my brother!” The girl sobbed as she stood over Dimitri, bloodied dagger in hand, “You deserve death!”

Byleth couldn’t hear what he said, adrenaline was far too loud in her ears. Before the girl could deliver the killing blow, Byleth pushed her body between the dagger and Dimitri’s exposed back. 

She’d been stabbed before, and it never ceased to hurt. But she had never been stabbed like _this_. The girl drove the blade into her stomach with both hands on the hilt, brows furrowed and eyes wide with madness. She screamed in Byleth’s face as she realized that the one eyed monster would not die on this day, at least not by her hand. 

Rodrigue killed the girl in an instant. Byleth fell to her knees, agony running through every inch of her body. With her last bit of strength, she rolled onto her back to face the sky above. 

Dimitri and Rodrigue were blurry as they looked down on her. A warm tear dripped onto her cheek - she noted the scene with irony, how much like her father she was. She wished that she could see Dimitri’s face through the dizzying pain, see his expression, see the clarity in his eyes that she had longed for. 

Whatever they said, she couldn’t hear a word. Yells surrounded her, gasps and screeches. Mercedes’ voice reached her ears through the dim, and warmth covered the spot where the dagger stood, as if there was an attempt to heal her wound.

Dimitri held her head in his hands, her hair tangled between his fingers. It must’ve been _he_ who was crying onto her, something so truly human that she couldn’t help but smile for. Above him, a flash of dark green looked down on her, Seteth watching the scene with observant eyes. 

It was odd, how green her blood was. It was not red, it was not the color of human blood. Seteth’s voice cut through the dim, “I knew it.”

What did he know? That she was dying? That her blood was a weird color? She really didn’t have the energy to question his cryptic words in that moment, she was too busy dying. It was very hard work, he had to know that. 

Dimitri laid his head on her chest and wept. Rodrigue was saying something to him, trying to soothe the prince in the only way he knew how. Little did he know, the girl in his arms was happy - she had done it. She had no pulses left, this was her only chance to save his life. She'd done it.

Byleth was very, very tired. 

Sighing, trying to ignore the pulsating pain in her body, she shut her eyes. 

And she went to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha dimitri killed his wife! lmao what a loser
> 
> OKAY SO some notes...
> 
> \- So, 'blackpowder' is what gunpowder was called before guns! I questioned the part about gunpowder/blackpowder, I really did. But then I was like eeeehhhh sure whatever. Because Rhea has been hiding that stuff for so long, I kind of see Byleth as the type who wouldn't care about hiding it and see it more as a tool for humanity - which is the Opposite of what Rhea wants, and will come into play later. But yes, Byleth is Archbishop, she does some snooping behind the scenes, she finds all this stuff the church has been hiding. She Will Use. and then in later chapters consequences shall be felt.
> 
> \- I was hesitant to not kill Rodrigue. At first I planned to go ahead with it because it's such a pivotal moment for Dimitri. And I hope that it doesn't seem cheap to you guys, like i said I was really hesitant and I'm taking a big step for myself in changing this. I hope I can pull this off and still make Dimitri's redemption believable, and not just silly sadboy dimileth fanservice. I want to give it the respect it deserves, AND keep Rodrigue alive. Like I said, I hope I keep his redemption believable despite the changes.
> 
> \- I've only recently realized how serious this story is to me. It started out as a silly short fic, and now it's turned into this. I've enjoyed writing it a lot, but that hasn't always been the case. It's not as cohesive as I would like it to be, there are things mentioned in the latest chapters that aren't ever acknowledged in earlier chapters, because I've only realized Now that they're important details to include. So, this fic may undergo some editing. It won't be anything huge or plot changing, just some little stuff. I just wanted to make this note to acknowledge the shift that this story has taken, how it's really grown close to my heart, and to explain why some things may show up here and there that were barely acknowledged before. I leave a lot of canon stuff out because it's not relevant to the dimileth at hand, but this is a True Fanfiction where you kinda fill in the blanks with stuff you already knows happens. ANywhooooo
> 
> im tipsy. im laughing at memes. love you all


	13. The Redemption of Dimitri A. Blaiddyd

_Weep for yourself, my man,_

_you'll never be what is in your heart._

  
_Weep little lion man,_   
_you're not as brave as you were at the start_

  
_Rate yourself and rake yourself,_   
_take all the courage you have left_

  
_Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head_

"Little Lion Man" - Mumford & Sons

* * *

_“She’s right, you know. You deserve death."_ Lambert, whispering in his ear and stealing his mind away.

A stinging laugh from Glenn, _“Finally. You’re a failure of a man.”_

_“It’s finally happening, Dimitri. This is what you've been waiting for, right, son?"  
_

It was finally happening. 

Nine long years of suffering and it was _finally_ _happening_. He had been a 13 year old boy recovering from burn wounds, haunted by nightmares of fresh trauma. A 15 year old who took lives with an eager grin, thinking that he had a chance at revenge. 17 and calm, calculated, destiny awaiting him. Even his infatuation with his professor could not distract him fully then, as tempting as it was. 18 years old, and Edelgard wore the mask made of flames. Years pass, a worsening condition, isolation wearing down on an already fragile mind. And it all concludes in _this_ moment - the one that he had been wishing for for so very long.

Dimitri was so tired. This burden had become far too heavy for his shoulders. 

With Byleth’s ring curled in his palm, he shut his good eye and sighed. He braced himself for the cold blade that was destined to run through his heart, feeling her presence above him. Flames flickered across the corpse littered field and lit the world up in their devastating heat. It was almost like hell, what little he had been taught of it. An eternal fiery torment where bad people atoned for their sins - to rest, to _finally_ shut their eyes and stop thinking just for a moment.

Patient, he waited. His shoulder throbbed in agony. He held the ring to himself, clutching it with all of his strength. 

The next stab never came. 

If only his ears were focused, then he would hear the footsteps nearing, the labored breathing of the woman he loved as she slipped her body in front of him. If only he was not so absorbed in his own mind, then he would realize that he had _not_ been stabbed a second time, and instead the assault meant for him had been given to another. The blade never came. He could not feel the cold sting of it's attack. The world around him grew dim as he listened to a sickening thump, followed by the strangled yell that crawled out of the throat of the woman behind him. It was followed by the crackle and flash of dark magic that instantly killed the assailant in return.

With a rush of anxiety, Dimitri twisted around. He didn’t feel as if he had much of a heart left to break, but Byleth would prove him wrong, as she always did. She could not let him be right even for a moment. If he thought that his heart was shattered earlier, then to see her laying on the ground, dagger in her stomach, crushed the shards of his world to dust. 

He had no time to think before his body reacted. He could not register Rodrigue standing at his shoulder in a wide eyed panic, voice saying something unimportant and unintelligible. Dimitri pulled himself to her side and dug his fingers into her hair. “Beloved,” a whisper, shaken by the broken dam of tears spilling from his eyes, “Beloved, how could you do that? _Why_ did you do that?”

Byleth didn’t reply, and how could she? Her lips parted, before she turned her head. Her eyes were fuzzy as she looked at the crowd gathering to stand above her. Mercedes was on the scene in an instant, golden magic at her fingertips. Despite the sheer amount of noise surrounding him, alll of it remained dim, unheard, and unregistered. Dimitri could not see anything besides his wife, laying on the ground. Her hair was soft on his fingers, and her cheeks pink with pain. She took a shuddering breath and winced as he drew himself closer. 

“I knew it.” Seteth, the clearest voice in the chaos. Dimitri ignored him and laid his chest on Byleth’s collarbone, taking in the scent of strawberries, sweat and blood. A pool of green liquid had soaked through the front of her armor and dripped down her side, mingling with the grass below. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t comprehend the cold woman in his hands. His throat was clogged and his stomach was heavy, while his every limb shook with emotion. Byleth closed her eyes and sighed as he nestled his face into her neck. 

Above him, Seteth took control of the situation. Everybody who had gathered around her body continued to stare with shock and horror, whether it be at the boar prince’s shaking shoulders, or the dead girl with the green blood. He shooed away the onlookers and sent a glance to Mercedes, “Stop the bleeding and get the dagger out. Put pressure on it, we’re losing her.”

She was already lost, did he not understand that? Dimitri looked up as Mercedes knelt down beside him. She gripped the hilt of the dagger with both hands and grimaced. She should not have to work on his wife like this, not when it was his fault. Slowly, he sat up and nudged her aside. Surprised, but willing, she scooted over to allow him too grasp the hilt, ominously quiet as he yanked the dagger from her body. It’s blade was still red with his blood, mingling with the green of hers. 

If he was alone, he would never remove the blade in that way for fear of her bleeding out. Yet, he and Mercedes were determined to keep the situation from growing worse. In an instant, Mercedes put her hands onto Byleth’s stomach and pressed down, “I need something. Flayn,” a calm glance over her shoulder, “go get fabric from the supplies cart.”

Even with Flayn leaving to get fabric, the bleeding needed to stop before it was too late. He slipped his cloak from his shoulders and folded it over itself. Nudging aside Mercedes once again, he pressed the blue fabric onto Byleth’s stomach. Instantly, it was soaked through. He folded another piece over it and pressed again. It was fortunate for him that Mercedes was good at following unspoken direction. It was almost as if she understood the intensity of his gaze, the hurt on his face, his silence that spoke the loudest. She moved to Byleth’s other side and pressed her hands against any exposed spot, fingers glowing golden with healing. 

The crowd around them watched. Rodrigue kept his eyes on Dimitri’s face. His gaze was the only one he could stand to look at, the only one that was not blurry in the sea of people. Pushing more pressure onto her wound, he looked up to his adoptive father, his lips parted. He wanted to say something, _anything_ , though he wasn’t sure what. What could he possibly say?

Rodrigue leaned forward and rested a hand on his shoulder, “Dima…”

Another tear trailed down his cheek. He had not cried in so long, he had forgotten what it felt like. It stung. It was terrible. He couldn’t live with himself if this feeling ever continued. 

“She died for me.” 

His voice did not sound like his own. It was a stranger’s voice, croaking and strangled. 

Rodrigue lowered his eyes to Byleth’s face. Her lips were parted as she let out a small breath, almost as if she were sleeping peacefully. He observed her for just a moment, before he shook his head, “No. _No_ , she really didn’t.”

She stepped in front of a knife for him. She was bleeding out on the ground for him. She had chosen to halt his own death, trading it for hers. Rodrigue’s words were maddening. 

Dimitri tried to gulp down the rock in his throat and returned to folding his cloak over her stomach. Mercedes whispered instructions to herself while she spread magic through her body, though her brows worried as if she was uncertain that it was doing any good. Flayn ran through the crowd carrying an armful of bandages and wraps that would do a much better job than Dimitri’s cloak. 

Flayn dropped to her knees and handed him a bandage. Dimitri tossed aside his green-blood soaked cloak and took the bandage, gently lifting Byleth’s body to wrap it under the small of her back, bringing it up on the other side of her waist and letting it meet in the middle. He repeated it again, and again, taking the bandages from Flayn’s hands as she offered them. 

Rodrigue continued to stare at the hurried prince. Quietly, he leaned in again, “Dima, she didn’t die for you. Listen to me.”

He reached out to touch his cheek, turning his face towards him. His eyes were serious, meeting the red and puffy eye of the mourning prince. Dimitri’s hands hovered hesitantly over Byleth’s body below, yet Rodrigue’s gaze caught him in that moment. 

He was listening. As much as he didn’t want to, he was listening. 

“She did _not_ die for you, Dimitri. You need to understand this. She died for what she believes in.”

Nonsense. His voice was strangled as he argued, “I-I killed her. She’s going to join the ghosts that haunt me. I-I was the reason for thi-”

“Dimitri,” a whisper, serious and low, halting his every thought, “Byleth died for the _world_ \- for what she knew that you could do and _be_ for the world. Listen to me, your Highness. Your life is your own. It belongs to no other, living or dead.”

He leaned in, resting his forehead against his. An affectionate moment between father and son, between family. He whispered, “Now... _you_ need to live for what you believe in.”

Live for what he believed in? To live, to give up his lifelong goal, to serve someone that was not the ghosts of his pasts?

What did he believe in?

He had no idea.

“We must retreat,” Seteth now, a blurry face in the sea of people around him, “Edelgard may try to regroup if she sees that we’re distracted. I’ll get a stretcher for her from the medical tent.”

It was not as if Dimitri knew medicine, or health, or anything of the sort. He had taken care of his own body for five years with whatever resources he had available, and perhaps that made him rather uncaring in the ways of health. Or perhaps he was simply eager to leave this place, to put Gronder behind, along with whatever ghosts lingered there. It was possibly not very good for Byleth’s body, how he scooted his hands under her small frame and hoisted her up into his arms. Mercedes gasped as he held the Archbishop like a limp bride, scooting her further against his chest. 

“B-Be careful! Your Highness, goodness!” The priestess followed at his heels like a biting puppy, hands waving in the air with panic, “Her wounds! S-She could-”

“I’m being careful.” A grumble, as he glanced down at the girl in his arms. He stepped over a corpse in the grass, and began walking back towards the campground in the Northern pass of the field. Byleth’s hand hung from her body like a waving weed in the wind. Her head lolled, yet her eyes remained closed. 

The crowd parted for him, as they should. Eyes lingered on his face, on Byleth’s green blood, on her pale cheeks. He kept his eyes ahead as he walked. 

“Get a carriage ready!” Rodrigue commanded a shocked, meandering soldier, “And I want the road smoothed out, no bumping around. The Archbishop is injured!”

The Archbishop was _dead_ , not simply injured. As far as Dimitri could tell, the life had left her body. Yet, Rodrigue glanced at her with such urgency that it almost seemed as if she was holding on by a single thread - as if there was a chance. 

Hurried by his adoptive father’s urgency, he quickened his pace across the field. Shocked soldiers opened the door to the carriage for him to slip Byleth inside, laying her back onto the velvet couch cushion. It was not the best for transporting a body, but it remained the only option. The other would be to put her on a stack of hay with the animal carts, but to put the Archbishop’s corpse on hay like a bundle of apples would surely raise eyebrows. 

Dimitri climbed into the carriage and knelt on the floor beside her. He shifted her body so she would lay more comfortably, without her fingers brushing on the ground. Rodrigue and Mercedes leaned into the door and watched as Dimitri shifted her body around so she would not be so cramped. He was determined, brows furrowed and mouth set into a thin line. A horse neighed by the window, hooves clopping on the ground as it walked by. Shouts and commands were barely heard by the prince, while he closed his good eye and took in his wife’s scent. Strawberries, sweat, blood. He’d never forget that mixture for as long as he lived. It was sickening, and all too familiar.

Her hand lay bare on her chest, her finger absent of the usual gold and green ring she wore. The sight had become so normal to him, so regular, that her bare finger looked unnatural and wrong. His heart skipped a beat as he sat up, “Wait. I need to get something.”

Rodrigue held onto the side of the carriage, "What is it?"

Dimitri stood - he was too tall for this method of transport, his shoulders hurt from hunching over - and moved towards the little door on the side, “Her ring. I dropped it out there.”

He nodded in understanding, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Mercedes agreed, “We’ll make sure she’s okay!”

It was difficult to part from her body, but to imagine leaving the ring behind was worse. Soldiers eyed him with pity as he stalked past and made his way towards the middle of the field where she had fallen. He knew the spot, he would have no trouble finding it. He would never forget that particular moment, the trampled grass with Edelgard standing at a distance, the tower in the background. He knew exactly where to head. 

His cloak lay on the ground in a crumpled, soaked mess. His sense of smell was not the strongest, but even he could smell how terrible it was. He picked it up and tossed it over his shoulder, then knelt down to feel around for the glimmer of a green jeweled ring in the grass.

He couldn’t believe that he had dropped it. Behind him, the army began to mobilize. Knights on horseback moved through the pass and out of sight, followed by supplies carts and wagons filled with the bodies of their dead. A single carriage remained unmoving, surrounded by a group of people that switched between watching him, and looking inside at the body the carriage held. 

His classmates were waiting, loyal as always. He didn’t deserve that. 

After a moment on his knees, searching for the ring, he finally touched it. It had lost it’s warmth from Byleth’s hand, yet it still glimmered in the sunlight. He held it up to admire the jewel. Emerald had not been his first choice, he would’ve much preferred diamond. Yet, it almost seemed fitting, a gemstone that represented truth and love, mined from the mountains of Northern Faerghus. Pagan traditions of his past ancestors also said that the emerald was a stone of intuition, and foretelling the future - ironic for it to sit on the finger of a woman who controlled time itself. 

The rest of the army was quickly on it’s way out. He glanced over his shoulder, stuffing the ring into his pocket and feeling the outline of the band, a comforting reminder that it was not yet lost to the world. He stood and jogged across the field towards the bridge where his ex-classmates waited. 

How long ago he had told Byleth to throw this ring into the river. She would never do as he said, of course, and instead had thrown it at _him_. That was worse, somehow. 

For once, he did not ignore the curious eyes of his friends. They did not smile, but they did not glare - save for Felix. Ingrid and Sylvain parted to allow him to walk between them, back to the carriage. Ashe and Annette, their eyes red with tears, followed. Dedue waited beside the door and opened it as Dimitri neared, “Your Highness.”

He bowed as if he deserved the respect. Dimitri placed a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but the words would not come. He wasn’t quite sure what he even intended to say at all, he wasn't sure of very much anymore.

"If you need me I'll be right here," Mercedes assured as she climbed onto the back of Dedue's horse, "I won't leave your side."

She could not possibly mean that, Byleth had said the same to him before. Grunting, he shut the door behind him and moved towards Byleth to check her breathing. He knew that she would have no pulse, but she still breathed as a human. He tore off his left glove, ignoring the glimmer of light catching his silver and lilac wedding band - the color her eyes used to be, how he missed it - and gently touched her cheek with his bare fingers. 

He wasn't sure what it meant when he felt the warmth of air under her nose. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel when he kissed her cold forehead. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now, with a wife that was good as dead.

The carriage began moving. He buried his face into his hands and gripped his hair. And for the first time in nine years, he prayed.

* * *

They arrived at Garreg Mach in the morning, before the sun ever rose. Seteth swung the door open and gazed at the drowsy, half asleep prince on the floor. 

“Home.” It was all he said. Slowly, Dimitri blinked, sat up, yawned, and cracked his aching back. 

Seteth stepped aside as he watched the prince shimmy his way out of the too-small carriage, and reach back inside to hoist the Archbishop into his arms like a bride. She remained in her ragdoll state, arm dangling from his grip. He had barely seen the prince for the entire week of travel. Many of the army had arrived before his carriage, having smaller loads to haul. They had ridden throughout the night so they could arrive back in such a good time, and Dimitri had barely slept all week. His knees ached as he carried Byleth through the quiet, dark marketplace, and up the stairs to the reception hall. Seteth followed silently. 

He did not exactly know _where_ he was taking her. His feet moved him towards the chapel, to his usual spot where he spoke with his family. He knew, though, that it would be the worst place for her. 

He sent a tired, questioning glance to Seteth at his side. The man kept his face ahead, “Rhea's- er, Byleth's room. On the third floor.”

It was a long walk, but the comfort of the Archbishop's quarters would be best for her body. Mercedes announced days ago that there was nothing else she could do, and there was no other healer that could give a better diagnosis than she could. Byleth's wound healed far more quickly than it naturally should. Dimitri trusted that he was doing the best for Byleth as he carried her up the three flights of stairs, to the room Rhea had occupied so long ago.

Seteth followed, watching as Dimitri nudged the door open with his foot and turned to maneuver her body through the doorway. Gently, he placed her on the bed, her hair splayed out around her head like a halo. She was serene, beautiful, the Goddess he knew that she was.

Seteth closed the door behind him. It was silent in the chapel, still so early in the morning. “So,” he cleared his throat, though Dimitri did not even spare him a glance, “I assume you know what she is?”

“ _She_ didn’t even know what she was,” an answer grumbled from his spot beside the bed, looking down at her, “but she had an idea of it.”

Seteth recalled the conversation of several months ago. Nabateans, he had told her, so uncertain about including _whatever_ _she_ _was_ into his kind. One did not _become_ a Nabatean, they were born as such. And none had been born for a very, very long time. 

Jeralt was human. Sitri was… a thing. He wasn’t sure about that, he’d never gotten the chance to meet her. Yet, from what he heard, all he could assume was that she was not a naturally born human. He had never questioned further what had happened, and Rhea was determined to not repeat her actions, calling Sitri ‘the last’, and oftentimes ‘number 12’ - with no other explanations provided.

Byleth could not possibly be a Nabatean, yet everything about her said differently. Her ears, her eyes, her hair, her blood. It was against the nature of life itself, to be born one species, and turn into another. 

He realized that he had no true answer for Dimitri. He could not explain it, because he didn’t understand it either. 

Yet, he knew _this_. He knew the deathless death that she was in. 

“Do you recall when she disappeared five years ago?”

Dimitri flinched. He very obviously remembered it. 

“She reappeared, the same as she was before. Right?”

“Didn’t age a day…” a whisper, “she even had the same bruises on her skin, as if no time at all had passed.”

Dimitri had been the first to see her after her awakening, he had to know the oddity of all. She had been dead, she had fallen from a cliff, only to reappear as if it had never happened. 

“That is called dragon sleep, your Highness. It’s how Nabateans recover from injuries.”

“She’s not…”

“I don’t know if she is or not,” he shrugged and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “but I know dragon sleep when I see it. Flayn had undergone it for 1,000 years.”

Once again, Dimitri flinched. The prince from before would never flinch in that way, as if his words pained him to the core. Slowly, Dimitri turned his head, “How long, did you say?”

He heard him, there was no way he couldn’t. “1,000 years, your Highness.”

His hand shook. He had left his glove off, revealing the finger that wore his wedding band. Outside of the balcony windows, the sun was beginning to rise. A new day began, while the prince’s world ended for the third time this week.

“I-Is there a chance that…”

“That she could sleep for the same amount of time?”

A beat of silence. A quiet agreement. Seteth grimaced. 

“Yes, your highness, there is a very good chance she might be asleep for a very, very long time.”

A time long past his death. As alive as he claimed Byleth to be, she looked dead. She was still quiet, stiff, and cold. She was a corpse, in all of the senses that mattered. 

He would not have his wife back. She had truly left him. 

“What do I do?”

Seteth blinked in surprise. He took a step back, furrowing his brows, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Dimitri turned to him and spread out his hands, wearing only one glove and his black armor that was too big for his thin, malnourished frame, “what do I do to help her? Where should she stay?”

Unnerved, Seteth clasped his hands behind his back, “She can stay here for now, until the war is over. I’m not sure what we’ll do… it has to be the shortest reign of an Archbishop ever. Hopefully, though, Rhea is still alive in Enbarr somewhere.”

He cared very little for the leadership of the church. Scowling, he glanced at the still girl on the bed, “So she will just lay here until then? What about after that?”

“I…” Flayn had been in Zanado, safe in her enclosed shelter, unknown to the world. Byleth did not have that opportunity. “I suppose that you may take her where you wish.”

Like a man being given the ashes of a loved one, a pretty urn to put on his mantelpiece. Dimitri scowled, “Is that my punishment? To bear the body of my wife until I die? And then after that,” bitter, he shook his head, “I can see it now. Whoever takes my place will put her with the rest of my family in the crypt, dusting her off when she needs it. 1,000 years from now she’ll wake up and despise me, as she should. Because I killed her. And I left her. And I chose Edelgard.”

“Your Highness…”

“Leave me.” He waved his hand, facing Byleth once more. He knelt to lean on his knees beside her bed and hold her hand, “I must be alone today.”

He thanked the Goddess that Seteth obliged with no arguments. The door shut loudly as the man made his retreat, leaving Dimitri behind in the heavy solitude that permeated the Archbishop’s room. A room so far removed from Byleth herself that she looked foreign in the large, overly soft mattress. Surely his back would hurt just from one minute laying next to her.

It was morning, yet his eyes ached with exhaustion. Finally giving into the crawl of sleep that threatened to overtake him, he settled into the ground beside her bed. Her arm was like a dolls, lifeless, hanging down above him. He kept his fingers intertwined with hers and stared up at the ceiling above.

Sleep came eventually, but never quickly enough. 

At least it was void of nightmares this time. He would take black nothingness over the burning fires every day if he could.

Hours later, he awoke with a start. Gasping and shooting up, his hands searched in the dark for the cool touch of Byleth’s skin. He found her in the same position as she was in the morning. Relieved, he rested a hand on his forehead as if he could calm the headache pounding behind his eyes. The back of his skull throbbed with dim pain from having laid on the floor for so long - so long that the entire day had passed, night had stolen away what little light he had before. Sighing, he stood and fumbled in the darkness for a match and candle. 

Upon lighting the candle, he moved to the sconces on the walls. The room began to fill with flickering orange light, something far more preferable than the shadows of night. He didn’t want to think of what awaited him where he could not see. 

On the bed, Byleth lay just as she was before. Her midsection was wrapped in fresh bandages, the wound had stopped bleeding days ago. Her breathing was so still, so light, that one could easily mistake her for truly dead. Dimitri found himself staring, and doubting himself, paranoia overtaking any shred of reasonable logic. After all, his father always insisted that everybody around him was lying. 

He shook the thoughts away. He couldn’t listen to his father anymore, as terrifying as that thought was. He had to let go, even in the tiniest of ways.

Sighing, he sat on the side of the bed and searched her body for any sign of movement. He felt like a fool to wish that she would awaken then, when she very well could have 1,000 years of sleep ahead of her. As his eyes landed on her neck, something gold caught his gaze. He leaned in to push his fingers under the frail chain that stuck out under her collar. It was soft and delicate between his fingers, one would not need the strength of his crest to be able to break it. Gingerly, he lifted the chain up, sliding a hand underneath her head so it would not tangle in her hair, and freed it from its home around her neck. 

He had forgotten about this necklace. Ever since the proposal five years prior she had worn both of their rings on it, along with a bead, a shell, and a small pendant - all of them symbols of something in her life, something she kept close to her heart. 

His thumb brushed over the cream colored shell. Flayn, most likely, a gift from the ocean. Next to it, a bead painted blue, the same kind Mercedes and Annette wore on their wrists. The pendant in the middle was the most confusing, and the most familiar. It was scratched and beat up, but in the shape of a roaring lion. The leftover dye on the side told him that it used to be a colored a deep royal blue. 

It couldn’t be, not possibly. He thought she had lost that long ago. Bewildered, he turned it over to see the clasp on the back, broken and unusable. It was the pin he’d given her so long ago for her birthday, the one he thought she lost in the battle against Solon. She had weaved the necklace chain through an opening at the top, keeping it safe along with the other keepsakes. Allowing a smile, he dug her wedding ring from his pocket and went to work on gently unclasping the necklace. 

It was perhaps the only fragile thing he’d not broken in his life. He was unsure how he managed to open it, and to slip the green jeweled onto it, without bursting anything apart. Especially with his shaking fingers, and his heavy heart. 

It was not the worst thing he’d ever stolen. He had become quite the thief in the past five years, but he enjoyed none of it. As he slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it behind his armor, he smiled - this was the first time he actually found joy in swiping something from another person. The keepsakes were cold on his skin. He smiled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, my beloved. Thank you for everything.”

It was not nearly as much as he wished to say, but he did not have an eternity to list everything he was grateful for. He had to settle for his simple thank you, and hoped that his voice conveyed his true emotions. 

Byleth did not reply, as expected.

With a sigh, he realized that it was time. He had spent the entire week of traveling thinking about this moment, and it was finally time. His plans would be carried out, and all would be set as rightly as it possibly could in this world.

He approached the large desk at the side of the room, hands searching for a quill and ink pot in the drawers. Setting the writing materials down, he smoothed out a piece of parchment and grimaced. He had not written something in so long, the blank sheet in front of him was almost intimidating.

He sat in Rhea’s old chair. It was too small and too stuffed for him. He felt as if his knees were to his chest, and like the quill was a twig between his fingers. It would snap so easily, he took a deep breath to keep himself from gripping it too tightly as he wrote.

_Dear Beloved,_

Stop _,_ No, _no_ , he could not call her that. If she awoke still angry at him - and knowing Byleth, she would - she would not appreciate the endearment. Sighing, he began again, his handwriting shaky and crude. 

_Dear Wife,_

Who unironically called their spouse by that official title? It made him sound harsher and far more odd than he wanted. Growling in irritation, he started again, pushing the hair falling into his eyes aside. 

_Dear Byleth,_

Was that too informal? It was her name after all, but _everybody_ called her Byleth. She was not simply _Byleth_ to him, she was _beloved_ , _my dear_ , _my love_ , _my_ _life_ \- and so on. He groaned and rested his head in his hands, “I’m making it harder than it needs to be.”

A piece of his hair fell into his eyes again. He huffed and sat up, digging into Rhea's desk for a rubber band to tie it back with. He had never cared about the length of his hair before, but with the newfound feeling of _focus_ , and the lack of voices distracting him, he found himself annoyed by the wild tendrils in his face. Frowning, he yanked a rubber band out and wrapped it around his fingers, pulling his hair into a stubby ponytail at the base of his neck.

Back to business. He leaned down to search for another sheet of parchment, but he found none. The pile of blank sheets was low when he had begun, but he thought nothing of it. Now, his fingers brushed against the bare wood of the drawer, finding nothing. 

Another groan. He would simply have to use the page he’d crossed out so many beginnings on. Grimacing, he started anew.

_Dear Byleth,_

_How are you?_

  
  


_How was she?_ How could he ask that? _Why_ would he ask her that? What kind of prince could not compose a letter? He glared at his messily scrawled words on the page as if they’d done him a personal wrong. 

He had a long night ahead. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was around 3 a.m when Dimitri left the room. The letter was folded and sealed, neatly stuffed into the bag that held Byleth’s belongings. Hopefully, whenever she decided to wake, she could read his carefully penned confession of all of the things he could never bring himself to say outloud.

And that was it. That was his last tie, cut. He could do what he needed now. 

It was too late for anybody besides him and patrolling soldiers to be out. The drowsy guards would not bother him as he stalked towards the stables. Someone had so kindly cleaned his cloak of the dirt and blood of the battle, but it did not smell of mint and mountains as Byleth had always managed to make it - how silly, he thought, to desire someone’s laundry skills so much. The cloak brushed against the ground as he opened the stable doors and greeted a brown horse with a kind hand. 

“Come,” a soothing whisper, his tone of voice a result from spending most of his life training horses, a glimpse of who he used to be before monster-hood, “We have places to be.”

A beat of silence. A snicker from the shadows. An unheard set of footsteps approaching, with Dimitri being too caught up in his plans to notice otherwise.

“Oh? Like where?”

A voice so sudden, so accusatory, stabbing him from behind. He nearly jumped at the noise, before whipping around to glare at the source. His gaze settled on Ingrid, her hands on her hips. Felix, his arms crossed. And Sylvain, glaring incredulously, “Dude, that’s my horse!”

Dimitri sent it a blank glance, “Oh? I’ll take another then,”

How easily it could be fixed, in his mind. How easily he could steal a horse from the stables, ride to Enbarr, and cut off Edelgard's head. How easily he could silence the urges in his mind. How easily he could slip out of Garreg Mach and never come back.

Instead, Ingrid’s accusatory stare grew deeper, “No you _won_ ’t! You’re not going anywhere!”

She sounded so confident in herself, when she was so very wrong. Exhausted, and with a heavy heart, he gazed at her impassively. “I will be, Ingrid, I must go to Enbarr.”

A snort from Felix now. He glared at Dimitri as if he was stupid, “Even now you’re still holding onto that? Your wife is practically dead, and you still want to run after the Emperor?” A scowl, a low voice, “That’s _sad_ , boar prince.”

Yes, it _was_ sad. He was sad. He’d ever felt this way before, more lost than ever. At least in the past, he had something to cling to, a shape in the mists to run towards. That was gone now. 

His heart caught in his throat once more. He felt as if he had no more tears to cry, just aching pain that filled every inch of his body. His heart would not stop hurting. “I-I must avenge the dead, I don’t expect any of you to understand. Byleth… Byleth has joined them.”

“Byleth didn’t throw herself in front of a knife for that!” A sudden eruption. Felix’s yell echoed off the walls, “You’re an idiot if you think that’s why she risked her life! She did it for this world, and everybody in it! She did it for what she believed in, not to freaking motivate you, _idiot_!”

Under usual circumstances, Ingrid would chide him for speaking so rudely to the prince. Yet, she remained cold. Next to her, Sylvain wore a serious face that was so very foreign for him. This was different from the normal world they lived, this was a moment of great importance. The tension in the air rose as Dimitri stared at his childhood friend, glaring daggers, “The dead deserve their due."

Sylvain huffed as if he was annoyed, “Stop. Dimitri, the dead are dead. I’m not about to tell you to get over it, but you can’t _live_ for them.”

The moon above was bright, shadowing his friends faces as they stared. The friends he grew up with, the friends who taught him how to laugh and cry and feel for others. The friends who could make anything funny. The friends who promised to be at his side forever. Those kind of promises didn't mean much anymore.

He held the reigns of the horse and avoided their eyes, “Silence.”

It was a whisper. A plea. A beg. The boar prince stood so vulnerable before these people, knees shaking, unable to move. 

He could not live for the dead, Sylvain said. What did he know? A dam of hot tears threatened to break from behind Dimitri’s eyes, because no matter how hard he tried, he could not silence the voice in the back of his mind that agreed. It was maddening.

He let out a shuddering breath and closed his good eye, “If I do not live for the dead, what could I possibly live for? What even is there for me?”

Ingrid sucked in a surprised gasp, “Your Highness,” she whispered slowly, “I will not stand here and tell you that life is great, or that it's easy. It really isn’t.”

Very true. He would've smiled if his heart didn't ache in the way it did. His entire body felt shaken, as if he was turning against everything he knew. Nervewracked, and slightly sick, he watched her gather her words together and speak with a passion only Ingrid could have.

“But you know what _isn_ ’t terrible?” She took a step towards him and rested her hand on his arm, “Faerghus isn’t. It’s beautiful and it’s the home of our people. Faerghus can’t be Faerghus as we’ve always known it without… well, without _you_.”

Sylvain chimed in, “The people need you. The _world_ needs you.”

They made him sound so important, as if he mattered. Rulers came and went, he would be gone one day no matter what he did now. He was still holding back the dam of tears, his throat dry and stiff, his fingers shaking, “My wife is gone. Even if she wakes tomorrow, she will still hate me.”

The ring sat against his chest underneath his armor. It should’ve been on Byleth’s finger instead. 

Felix glared daggers. His arms tightened and his eyes narrowed, “So win her back! God dammit man, don’t throw yourself a pity party! If you want to change your messed up mindset, put in the work! You can’t just focus on the bad crap and cry when things get hard. So, live and move forward for what you believe in, asshole!”

He was crying. His cheeks were wet and cold in the chilly night air. He turned away to shield his face from Felix’s accusatory glare, while a civil war waged in his chest. He knew that he was correct. He knew that he could not ignore the truth any longer.

It was just so damn hard.

He was a man haunted by his past, his mistakes, his own choices. And he felt that he had no right to live, when so many had died instead. His family, his friends, his wife.

But none of them died for _him_. 

_Live and move forward for what you believe in, asshole._

He had to start being stronger with himself. He needed to work to change this mindset, to stop slaving to his own mind. It would be a difficult battle, uphill all the way, but he knew that it was necessary. 

If Byleth ever awoke, he’d win her back. Until that happened, he’d live for the chance to have her again, to see her smile, to be at her side. He’d live for the people who relied on him. He’d live for the people he loved - for the entire country under his care. For Byleth.

It would be embarrassing in the future, to think of how he broke down. He found himself stepping forward, allowing Sylvain to wrap his arms around him as if he could hold his entire body up. His shoulders shook with emotions as he squeezed him in return. He could not even begin to register his words, or the look on his face, “As nice as this is, you're really heavy Dima."

Ingrid rolled her eyes and stepped forward. She wrapped her arms around the men, one around Sylvain and the other around Dimitri. “I'll help hold him up- Goddess you _are_ heavy. Ugh." She glanced over her shoulder, "Come on, Felix!"

“...No.”

“Felix!" A whine, "Come on!”

“ _No_.”

Dimitri raised his head from Sylvain’s shoulder, “I would actually really prefer to be let go now, this is a bit too intimate for my tastes.”

“Oh, I’m not your type?”

He shifted his gaze back to him, brows furrowed. He resisted the urge to push his friends away like the rabid boar he was, “I am afraid not.”

Sylvain offered a wolfy grin, “ _You_ ’ _re_ the one who fell into my arms.”

He narrowed his eye, “For a _brief_ hug."

Ingrid looked up, arms still wrapped around them both, “I mean, at least I’m here. I won’t let go until Felix joins, though.”

“Felix,” Dimitri glanced over Ingrid’s head, a hesitant, nervous sort of plea crossing his features, as if he was unsure how to proceed with having friends in the first place, “Please?” The expression he wore felt odd, the arms around him nearly suffocating in their foreignness. It had been so long since he’d been so normal, touched by anyone that was not Byleth. He thought he’d never experience the warmth of his companions again.

But he was certainly ready for Sylvain to let go.

“Felix no! Come back! We can’t let go until you hug him!”

On cue, the swordsman was gone. He disappeared into the shadows, a grumbling, retreating form in the night. Sylvain leaned forward into Dimitri and squeezed even more tightly, "If I fall, I'm taking you two down with me."

"You better _not_ fal- stop it! I almost lost my balance!"

It was a bit much for his first step towards normality, to say the least. But it was not unlike how Byleth had been helping him, this good-natured clinginess that he was forced to accept. Everybody in his life seemed to approach his problems with the same method. Love sickness burrowed into his chest and set up camp - because Goddess, he missed Byleth.

He missed her like a desert missed the rain.

No amount of human contact could take that away. All he wanted was Byleth, _her_ arms, _her_ voice, _her_ nagging optimism and pushy affection.

Ingrid wrinkled her nose, “Ugh. Sylvain you smell like cheap cologne. It’s giving me a headache.”

“It was _not_ cheap!”

Dimitri let out a shuddering, nervous sigh, "You could just solve that problem by letting go of me.”

“No!”

* * *

An hour later, Dimitri took the long way back to the Archbishop’s bedroom. He needed time to think. 

His stomach was full for once. Sylvain knew where the kitchen staff kept leftovers, and he had not eaten in several days. Ingrid even swiped him a shot of Northern Faerghus whiskey, and while he could not taste it, he felt it’s sting loosening every doubt in the back of his throat. 

He was human again. He was a very imperfect, very broken human, but human nonetheless. 

As he took each step, he thought of the night behind him. Their words lingered in his mind like a thick fog, refusing to leave. He knew that he would be waging his inner war for the rest of his life, but he was not alone. He would never be, not anymore. He had his friends, the ones who could turn every sad moment into something funny, and argue with each other into the rest of the night. His friends who stopped him from leaving to die.

And he had not been alone _before_. Byleth had always been at his side - he was just too self centered to notice. 

Up the stairs and down the hall. He quietly stepped past the other rooms as he made his way towards Byleth’s. He opened it and stared at the figure asleep on the bed.

Quietly, he closed the door behind him. It was nearly morning, another day would be spent exhausted and barely clinging onto life. His sleep schedule needed to be fixed, and perhaps that would be his first personal goal, the first step towards his own health and welfare. 

He stole the pillow beside Byleth’s head and took an extra blanket from a dresser drawer. As well as he slept at her side, he would not do so when she could not consent. Instead, he laid the pillow down on a rug and curled up under the thin blanket, on the floor where it was cold and hard.

Beside him, Byleth’s hand hung mid-air, her fingers just in reach for him to hold. He gave her one final squeeze, before pushing her arm back to her side and laying her hand on her chest. She was certainly a _serene_ almost-corpse.

A sigh, a heavy closing of his eyes. Exhaustion threatened to steal him away.

“Beloved, I know you can’t hear me. But I wanted to tell you this anyway.”

Silence. His own voice sounded too loud, far too foreign in the empty room. 

“We’re..." his hands shook as he fiddled with the silver ring on his finger, civil war raging inside of him, "We're going to take Fhirdiad back. I-I’m sorry it took me so long to come back to you. Thank you, beloved... Thank you for being patient with me.” 

He turned onto his side and shut his eyes. Byleth did not respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon: post time skip Dimitri is terrible at giving hugs, he squeezes too hard and puts all of his weight on you. Some say that Ingrid and Sylvain are still holding onto him... even now... you can hear their pleas for Felix to come back...
> 
> ANYWAY a shorter chapter this one is. I hope you liked it! Comment if you did, or have any opinions or questions! Thank you!


	14. The Homecoming of Dimitri A. Blaiddyd

_The great protector, is that what I'm supposed to be?_

_What if all this counts for nothing, everything I thought I'd be?_

_What if by the time I realize it's too far behind to see?_

Pluto Projector - Rex Orange County

* * *

  
  
  


The triumphant return of the King, crowned in glory and shining in pride as he approached his subjects. A moment so wonderfully waited for by everybody who cared for him. A moment that some even prayed for. A moment that was long coming.

And he felt the complete opposite of how he should. His back ached from sleeping on the floor. His necked complain in pain if he moved it too much. Felix looked at him as if he was a dead fish on the sidewalk. He felt like one. Triumphant and Kingly, he was not. Tired and nervous, he was entirely.

“So…” a clearing of his very Kingly throat, a tapping of his very Kingly sweat lined hands, “Hello, I suppose. I mean, I don’t _suppose_ , I _do_ mean hello.” A pursing of his very Kingly chapped lips, “Goddess, I’m already bad at this, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” The question had been rhetorical, though Felix took it upon himself to answer with a biting tone. He earned a glare from Ingrid, who had far more sympathy for the floundering ruler at the head of the table. He ignored the glare and continued to hold Annette’s hand as casually as he possibly could under her glare. It was as if being next to Annette and insulting Dimitri were the two most natural things he’d ever done. They most likely were, in fact.

Dimitri sent him a grimace. It was apologetic in nature, his good eye nearly pleading from underneath the choppy set of bangs in his face. Sighing, he pushed his hair back and shook his head, “I suppose I should restart-”

“Really,” Seteth held up an impatient hand, “There is no need, your Highness, we understand.”

Dimitri pursed his lips, “I cannot just act as if the last five months haven’t happened. But I was just hoping this would be…” less mind blowingly awkward. Less tense. Less of an inner battle. The civil war in his chest had ceased for the time being, far too distracted by the burrowing eyes of his comrades at the war table. 

The women had the most sympathy for him. Mercedes clasped her hands and stared with pity as if he was a hurt lamb, though he surmised that she was most likely worried due to his status as ‘Archbishop’s Husband’ rather than King, or even as Dimitri. Mercedes had her priorities. As did Annette, who was more focused on if her fiance’s words _truly_ hurt him or not. They hadn’t, Felix’s words stopped hurting long ago. Even now, in relative peace, he found himself complacent to the sting of the Fraldarius heir - like growing immune to poison taken over time. 

Felix’s father remained entirely the opposite. He sat at the other end of the table, silent. His chin remained upturned in an expression that would’ve been arrogant on anybody besides him. He looked proud, rather, his smile wide and his eyes shining with something unmistakably fatherly. Dimitri leveled his gaze with his and took a deep breath. He didn’t feel as if he earned that reassuring nod, or that look on his face, or the curvature of his lips, but it was there, and it was for him. And he would be okay. 

The room stayed quiet, waiting. For him. They waited for his words that were inevitable. Every Blue Lion and every Faerghus local knew to wait for Dimitri to gather his thoughts. Especially now, on the morning of his return, as the clouds parted to reveal that sun that had been hiding for so long, they waited.

His sun would shine now. He would _force_ it out from behind the storm clouds.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he took a deep breath and kept his gaze on Rodrigue, “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. My actions were reprehensible and there is no excuse for them. I put everybody’s lives in danger with my selfishness, and I cannot ever apologize enough.”

Short and sweet. He gulped and folded his hands behind his back, straightening his shoulders and trying to look more mentally awake than he truly was. His back hurt from sleeping on the floor beside Byleth all night, but he knew that it would ache even more if he slept in the bed. His head still pounded with the onslaught of a migraine, yet it was not as bad as usual. It was the smallest of victories, but one he would accept with a smile on his face. Mental fortitude was his only cure for this trauma. 

His words contained more that he would not say. Everybody in the room knew them. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Ashe shifted uncomfortably in his seat, opened his mouth and closed it, as if he wanted to say something. Ingrid sent him a quieting glance, and he shook his head in answer. Silence continued on deafeningly. 

Uncomfortable, Dimitri shifted on his feet. _He_ would approach the subject if nobody else would, and it should be him after all, it was _his_ fault and _his_ wife. 

“The Archbishop is still asleep, resting,” he nodded curtly, his heart racing in his chest as he spoke of her still form, “All of you have been hurt by my actions, but I think _she_ has been hurt even more so. I…" What to say about something so world-rocking? What could one possibly say when the moon was stolen from the sky? No words could explain the feeling in his chest as he steadied his breath, and closed his eyes, "Believe me, please. I think of her in my every waking moment. I will _never_ forget what I have done, and... a-and the consequences of my blood lust.”

Blood lust. There was no other word for it, and no way to sugar coat it. Blood lust, no matter where it was born from, was all Dimitri knew before. He put his left hand to his chest, right on the spot where her necklace lay under his armor. He wore no gloves today, and his lilac ring caught the sun shining through the window. 

Ashe finally seemed to gather the courage to open his mouth and speak his unspoken thoughts. His eyes were curious as he stared at the wedding band on Dimitri's finger, “I-I was wondering…"

"Yes?" He opened his good eye in surprise at the sudden question.

"Well... uh, are you and the professor going to still be married after she wakes up?”

And what a question that was. It was something he could not answer, for he had been asking that himself. There were no documents, but that was considered normal among the impoverished - getting said papers and sending them off to the capital was a trial all it's own, and was oftentimes ignored by those who could stand to do so. Technically, they were married, it happened under the eyes of an officiant, and that had been good enough for Byleth _then_. He wondered if she would want papers now, if she would awaken and despise him, and inform him so callously that their marriage was never even legal in the first place, and he kidnapped a priest and there were no other witnesses so nothing counted. The possibilities haunted him as thoroughly as his ghosts, as of late.

“I-I…” his throat felt dry, he could only stare at the wood patterns of the war table, “I don’t know.”

Another beat of heavy silence. Even Felix stared blankly at the table, his brows furrowed. Dimitri assumed that he was most likely thinking of Annette, of losing her to his own mistakes - and the feeling _is_ as unbearable as it looked. Dimitri would not wish that on even Edelgard. He thought he had become numb to the pain of loss, but Byleth taking a dagger for him had opened a new wound. It poured salt into an open cut, and it would not heal so easily. It was a fresh pain, clawing down his throat and mauling his heart. 

He didn’t feel as if he could breathe very well. Rodrigue kept his eyes level with his, the only safe spot in the entire room. He barely heard Sylvain’s careful, trained laugh, “Hey, don’t worry. She’s really patient, we all remember finals, don’t we?”

Annette took the offer with relief, “Oh yeah, she was really patient then. I-I remember that she spent all night studying with me because I was so nervous!”

A pretty thought. Byleth was patient with her then, tired as she napped on Annette’s bed and only woke to answer the dumbest, most rhetorical of questions. Annette passed perfectly. Dimitri oftentimes had nights like that with her, though they were filled with far more cuddling - at least he _hoped_ it was far more. 

No matter how rose tinted the nostalgia could be, there was no changing the fact that those were different times. _This_ was more important than grades on an exam. _This_ was bigger than the academy. This was her life, her husband, her sacrifice. 

Rodrigue caught the look on his face and cleared his throat to interrupt to reminiscing. He would take it upon himself to reintroduce the ugliness of the situation, even when nobody wanted to face it. “Whatever Byleth’s decision when she awakens, we can have faith that she will do what is best for us all,” his eyes swept over the group as they quieted, “She’ll do what is best for the church, and for Faerghus. She loved both, that much I know. She’ll do what is best for the _people_ ,” a slow nod as he chewed on his words, “and… She will do what she believes in. As she did on Gronder field, a week ago.”

There was no need to go on. He knew what they were all thinking, the shared statement that stood in the center of the room. _I trust Byleth._

They all did. Dimitri had, even as a feral boar raging on the battlefield, Byleth took up space in his mind. He trusted her tactics, her plans, her guidance. And he trusted that if she did leave him one day, that it was for the best. For whom, he wasn’t sure. Even if it did not benefit him, he knew that he would rather _her_ be happy. That was all he could ask for. 

“And with that said,” Dimitri's voice came out stronger than he expected it to, “I would like to announce our next move. We are falling back, and marching to Fhirdiad.”

All eyes turned to him, with various forms of excitement and skepticism. Sylvain furrowed his brows, “You really mean that?”

A confident nod, “I do. Our people have suffered enough, we cannot let Faerghus be under Cornelia’s rule any longer.”

He recalled sleeping on the floor of a dirty jail cell. He recalled her purring voice as he was dragged through the streets. He recalled her wicked smile - how her soldiers were so easily tricked by Dedue then. He recalled his hatred as he hid in the mountains outside of the city.

She would pay. The feral boar rustled inside of him at the thought. He took a deep breath to steady his emotions, “We march very soon, get yourselves ready. I would not put it past her to be expecting us.”

Dimitri barely registered the smiles and the pats on his shoulder. He moved as if through water, hearing nothing but the rushing of blurry sounds around him while his classmates and allies stood to discuss their plans for the following attack. Dedue and Rodrigue stayed quiet, at the end of the room, watching and waiting while Dimitri leaned on the table and sent nonconscious smiles to the excitement of his friends. 

The room began to clear. The war meeting was adjourned with a word from Gilbert. They were all to get ready, to be prepared, and that required their immediate attention. Dimitri leaned both hands on the table and looked at his wedding band, staring absently. 

Fhirdiad. His home. A white stone city of cold weather and warm bread. He could not even begin to imagine how much it had deteriorated under Cornelia’s rule. 

He would save it. He _needed_ to save it. Slowly, the memory of his execution returned, a five year old circumstance that he always dreaded to think of. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the thoughts come to him in their bitter way. 

_The cold jail walls were a welcome reprieve from the harsh ground of the city streets. His knees ached with newly formed bruises, the consequences of fighting so harshly against his captors hands. The faceless, unseen soldier pushed him against the wall, where he hit his shoulder and slid down to the floor. Nobody bothered to pull the sack off his head, and nobody bothered to release him from his chains._

_The prince was too weak for anybody to worry about his strength. He had not eaten for the weeks it took to travel from Garreg Mach to Fhirdiad. He could not break from his cell even if he tried. Dimitri rolled onto his back and attempted to stretch his legs, though they were stopped by the small size of the dungeon cell. He rested his feet flatly against the wall and sighed._

_Oftentimes, he felt his emotional pain in a very physical way. It was unfair, really, to suffer pangs of heartsickenness - of tragedy and loss. It was entirely too unfair that the prince’s chest ached as he thought of leaving Byleth behind, of never having found her body. It made him nauseous, exhausted and even sore, as he thought of his classmates narrowly avoiding their own executions. He could only hope that Edelgard would spare them._

_Was Byleth dead? He wasn’t sure. Sighing, he shut his eyes and let the whispers of his family drown out the sorrow of a love so possibly lost._

_Sleep hit him like an arrow in the back. Perhaps it was the bag over his head, or the sheer exhaustion of his starvation. He slept silently, and stiffly, on the hard floor. It gave him a headache that pounded throughout his skull in the night._

_He awoke to someone shaking against his chest. He fully expected to hear Cornelia’s mocking laughter, but instead it was a warm, low whisper that he had not heard in so long. His eyes shot open to see that the bag on his head had been taken off, and Dedue leaned over him with furrowed brows._

_Nearly miraculously, his energy returned in an instant. He shot up from his spot, though his hands remained tied behind his back. He allowed Dedue to lean over and begin working at the steel chains closing his wrists together._

_“My friend,” Dimitri studied his face, looking for any sign of his overactive imagination tricking his eyes, “are you… are you real?”_

_Dedue remained unphased by Dimitri’s question. He had heard such things before, as rare as they were in the past. He knew to answer simply. “Yes, I’m real.”_

_“W-What’re you doing here?” Flickering his eyes over his shoulder, he noticed that the cell door was ajar. The keys hung from the lock in a big ring, most likely stolen off the belt of the guard. The tiny window above him told him that it was still dark outside._

_Dedue pulled away as the chains loosened and fell to the ground with a clatter. Dimitri flexed his wrists and rubbed the harsh red lines that lined his skin. Dedue produced the bag that had been pulled over Dimitri’s head by his captors, having slipped it off him before waking him moments ago, “I’m here to let you go.”_

_The way he spoke was so cryptic, so odd. With his heart skipping in expectant fear, Dimitri pushed further, “What do you mean?”_

_His eyes flickered up, unafraid, “They need a body, your highness.”_

_“No.” A confident answer that he felt with every inch of himself, “No, they do not.”_

_“They do,” he insisted strongly, “Cornelia’s paranoid that you’re planning an escape, and a Blaiddyd loyalist killed her executioner last night. I overheard her plans to simply kill you in this cell, and skip the public execution altogether.”_

_“So?” He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter! We’re leaving together.”_

_Dedue leveled him with a look, “I’ve thought this through, your highness. Cornelia’s men don’t know you, they’re not from here. It’s dark enough that they won’t tell the difference between me and you, and they’ll dispose of me and Cornelia never has to know that you’re alive. You’ll be free, not on the run from her.”_

_He was horrified. There was much in his life that horrified him, and this would only add to the list of guilt to keep him up at night. Dimitri could only stare, eyes wide, his head pounding visciously, “You speak of your death so casually. I cannot accept it.”_

_“You’ll have to,” he insisted, “I refuse to allow anything else.”_

_“Dedu-”_

_Footsteps reverberated from outside of the jail. Low talk, and a man’s laugh, the jingle of weapons against hips. Dedue grimaced, “Go, now.”_

_“No-”_

_Time was running out quickly. Dedue pulled Dimitri up and shoved him away, closing the cell door behind him before the exhausted prince could even think to react. Now behind bars, he reached through and yanked the keys out of the lock. He tossed them into a dark corner inside of the cell, then took a step away to sit in the shadows, just as planned. He was obscured in the darkness. Dimitri watched with trembling hands while Dedue readied the cloth sack to fit over his head as Dimitri had worn just earlier._

_“I cannot add you to my list of grievances,” he whispered frantically, chest heaving, “I cannot take another death, Dedue. I need to die.”_

_“Go,” he commanded as the footsteps drew closer, “save Faerghus, your highness. Protect those who cannot protect themselves.”_

_His knees threatened to fall out from under him. His hands shook and his vision blurred. Yet, he found himself running. His feet moved of their own accord, down the hallway and to the opposite direction of the guards, where the hall curved and let out into another room. As he found a window to heave himself through, he heard a laugh. He heard a man’s yell, the baritone of Dedue’s voice, and the clash of a blade against stone. His heart sank. Vomit threatened to claw it’s way up his stomach. The sickening sound of a body hitting the floor reverberated through the building._

_There was no time to think. There was no time to muse over the fact that Dedue lay lifeless in his spot, where_ he _was meant to be. There was never any time._

_It was sheer adrenaline that pushed him. He slipped out the window and rolled into the bushes. He knew of an opening in the castle gardens he could slip through, and the mountains in the Blaiddyd region was a terrain all too familiar for him. Cornelia and her men knew nothing of the stones, of the trees and of the caves. Dimitri had been walking this land long before they arrived._

_He thought of Dedue while he ran. He thought of Byleth, and her disappearance. He thought of all of the dead that followed him, chasing him through the castle gardens until he found the specific bush that he used to sneak through as a child. He slipped through the hole and out of Fhirdiad._

_There was a small cave he could take shelter in for the night. From the cave, he could see the lights of the palace and know if a search party had gone after him. They would need torches to see, while Dimitri knew the hike from memory. Cornelia would not dare to let the public know that the prince escaped, it would incite rebellion. There were already Blaiddyd loyalists that moved of their own accord within the city walls._

_Tears ran down his face. They were salty on his lips and warm on his cheeks. His chest heaved and he bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out loud. Wrapping his arms around himself, he began his trek into the wilderness._

It was one of the most difficult days of his life. The satisfaction of his eventual vengeance would not be for the dead, not this time. He would have his revenge on Cornelia for himself. 

* * *

“You have to admit, that’s a bit creepy.”

Dimitri knew that. Yet, he feigned innocence. He was all wide blue eyes and an ‘o’ shaped mouth, tilting his head at Felix, “Whatever do you mean?”

A scowl, a glare. Dedue returned the glare in full, stoic force. Dimitri merely looked away to continue riding along the path. Felix’s gaze shifted back to the carriage following a short distance away, “There’s a whole dead body in there! A dead body that doesn’t even rot!”

Dimitri pursed his lips, staring straight ahead, “Then is it really a dead body?”

A scowl, “You’ve always been weird, boar prince. But this takes the cake.”

Perhaps it did. Dimitri wouldn’t know, yet he supposed that Felix was correct. He’d _always_ been a bit weird - giving a dagger to his step sister, proposing marriage to Byleth and then redacting it immediately, hearing voices in his head. That _was_ a bit weird. But did this take the cake?

Hauling one’s wife’s dead body was on a whole other level. He wasn’t sure _what_ level, but it was something up there.

“I trust the knights of Seiros with guarding the monastery,” a slow, calculated answer, “but not with guarding Byleth.”

“So you’re taking her into war with us?” Incredulous, he gestured to the carriage, "That's idiotic!"

He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, “I want her to see Fhirdiad. She’s always wanted to.”

_“She’s dead!”_

Irritation bristled in his stomach. He had thought her dead for five years already, and as easy as it was to _call_ her dead now, the thought never sat well. “Technically…”

A scoff, “Just don’t let her distract you. We don’t even have her strength to help us win this.” The rest went unsaid. While Felix could not mouth the words himself, Dimitri knew that he valued strength. _His_ strength. Next to Byleth, he was the best fighter in the army. It was the only concession Felix would give him.

Dimitri could promise nothing of distractions. He’d never been able to fully put away such things. And with Byleth in her carriage, sleeping soundly, surrounded by at least three battalions, he would still find himself thinking of her safety. She was not awake to defend herself. 

Yet, there was a chance she could awaken while in Fhirdiad. Dimitri could not bear the thought of not being at her side when the time came - if it ever would in his lifetime. 

It was all he could manage to send Felix a subtle, reassuring smile, “I will try my best, my friend.”

* * *

Fhirdiad loomed ahead. His future awaited him - a future much different than what he desired just weeks ago.

Dimitri had been correct to assume that Cornelia knew of their arrival. He would have to do a massive search among his soldiers for the spy that betrayed their assault plans. Paranoia poked at his mind as he weaved his horse through the troops and approached the front of the army. He planned to stay on the front lines for the first half of the battle, fighting side by side with the most unknown of his soldiers. After infiltrating the city, he would make his way to the castle to face Cornelia. For once, he felt as if he was a protector, rather than a murderer. He was determined to end the suffering at her hand.

The gates of Fhirdiad drew near. Giant mechanisms stood to greet the future King and his forces. His heart began to race as he took in the sheer size of the monsters guarding the entrance to his city. Behind him, a faint gasp from Rodrigue, “What in the Goddess’s name are those?”

Nobody could provide an answer. Dimitri was relieved that Byleth’s carriage was kept to the back of the army, so heavily guarded. The stone giants looked as if they could crush an entire battalion underfoot. 

“Another piece of weaponry from those snakes,” Seteth scowled as he steered his wyvern to Dimitri’s side, “they’re back to their old ways.”

“Their old ways?” He wasn’t familiar with the ‘snakes’ Seteth had hissed so disparagingly about. And what old ways they had returned to. Seteth looked at the giant with accusatory eyes, in the same way he looked at the black powder Byleth had used, or the oil lamps that had become so popular in the monastery. Dimitri had not yet deciphered the cause of his glare.

Seteth offered nothing. He only shook his head, “Treat them like demonic beasts, they’re essentially the same creation.”

_That_ was something he understood. It was unnerving, how the mechanisms did not move as they awaited the incoming army. Yet, he imagined that their power would make up for their stillness. He raised Areadbhar into the air above his head. He had never felt quite worthy of the relic since Rodrigue gifted it to him only months ago. Yet, in this moment, feeling the eyes of his army on his back, the golden light of the relic shined in the most glorious of ways. For once, he felt it’s power in the manner it was meant. 

The power of a leader. The power of someone who was terrified to lose the people he loved, and would fight to his last breath to protect them. The power to lead the world back into peace. 

And his first step would be to liberate Fhirdiad. His home needed him. 

He closed his eyes, and cast his voice out over the small army behind him, clear and confident, “Today, we take back Faerghus! Today, we restore our home!”

Simple words. He did not think they were much - he’d never been gifted in public speaking - but the applause and the cheers were thunderous. His small army became an absolute tidal wave of noise as they rushed past him and towards the city gates. 

He inhaled. He exhaled. He gripped Areadbhar and tried to stop his fingers from shaking. He looked to his right, where Byleth would usually be, and found it empty. 

He had promised to show her Fhirdiad one day, and he would. He just had to clean it up a bit first. 

With a cry full of determination, he kicked his horse, and approached the first monster. The battle began as they all learned how to fight against it's stone shields. Dimitri remained with his classmates, and with the other soldiers, blocking arrows flying from the walls, and pushing the vulnerable aside. It was his first battle in a group, rather than by himself, and he found it flying by faster than ever before.

Once the stone giants fell, the gates of the city were rammed open. It did not take long for them to enter, and Dimitri was struck with immediate horror at the sight before him. The streets were empty and torn apart, as if clawed up. Buildings had been burned down and left to rot with their blackened, half standing corpses. 

He had no time to grieve the destruction of his home. He could only avert his gaze as he rode through the streets he used to walk. The only sight in Fhirdiad that did not seem destroyed was the castle itself. If not for the city around him, it would look as if the Blaiddyds still inhabited its spiraling towers and white stone walls. Of course Cornelia would keep her stolen residence pristine. He gritted his teeth, and rode on through the streets, followed by his classmates of old. 

Once having left the main conflict in the entrance of the city, the world grew eerily quiet. The only sound was the beating of hooves on the torn up road, and the breathing of his friends around him. Nobody dared to speak, besides for horrified mutters under their breath, Dimitri's included. He had heard of rumors of 'ghost towns' in certain parts of Fodlan, but he had never seen one. Byleth, even, had told him stories of their empty buildings and their heavy air. He felt as if Fhirdiad had become exactly that.

There had to be people there. He knew that the civilians would not leave, it would take an act of the Goddess to get many Fhirdiad locals to leave their homes. Yet, they remained hidden. It was most likely for the best.

The castle at the Northern end of the city was built halfway into the mountain behind it. It always looked as if it was about to be swallowed by nature itself. It was beautiful and wild, it was angular and white, and absolutely cold. Dimitri had often thought that his home was the embodiment of Faerghus itself, but he had learned better in the last five years. 

He knew now that the embodiment of Faerghus were the tired faces of his people, their cheeks wrinkled and frost bitten, but their eyes shining and determined. The embodiment of Faerghus were their work-calloused hands as they shared a warm meal with strangers by a fireplace, and said their thankful prayers to the star covered sky. 

He had seen all of that. He had been a part of it. And he knew that he had to protect that. 

So, he approached the castle. He never thought he would have to break into his own home, ramming down the closed gates with spells. No guards dared to stop them, and nobody met them in the courtyard. The doors were unlocked and half ajar as if someone had forgotten to close them. With a heavy feeling in his chest, he dismounted his horse and entered the palace entrance.

And found nothing.

It looked as if the castle had been abandoned in the middle of the day. Even the servants were gone. Annette quickly reported that there were half peeled potatoes and boiling soups on the kitchen counters. There were no footsteps, no hushed whispers. There were no knights to challenge him. It was as if time had frozen, erasing every living being that once inhabited the palace. 

The Lions and their allies split up to search for any sign of life. In the distance, the battle in the middle of the city raged on. Dimitri could not believe the reports of complete abandonment as he explored. In disbelief, he took the stairs slowly, ascending to the bedrooms on the upper levels. Sylvain waited for him after checking the bedrooms and offices.

Sylvain could only grimace in disappointment, “There’s nobody here, Dimitri. Ingrid and Felix are checking out the basement and tomb, but I doubt they’d hide all the guards and castle staff down there.”

"I wonder if they..." he leaned on the wall, deep in rather confused thought, "just ran away? Many of the servants from when I was a child would know to retreat to the mountains in case of an emergency."

"But that doesn't explain the lack of guards, or Cornelia herself."

That was true. It was simply all too weird, and all too _perfect_. Paranoia dug it's claws into his mind once more as he thought of Cornelia's back-handed ways. She could very easily be setting a trap. The entire building might erupt, or go up in flames, or be filled with poison gas - only three paranoias in the entire list of possibilities. “And her room?”

“Cornelia’s?” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Nothing.”

Dimitri froze in sudden thought, “What of the throne room?”

“I don’t think anybody checked there.” With so few of them storming the castle, they could not cover so much ground very quickly. 

"I'll go check."

"I'll find the others and make sure they're okay!"

It was decided then. Hurriedly, Dimitri turned and made his way to the throne room. It was his least favorite of all the places in the castle, the throne always looked cold and empty, and his father had always looked even emptier when sitting upon it. As a child, he would imagine being chased by a large, unending hand down the length of the room. The memory had always unnerved him. 

Sylvain left his side as Dimitri continued on through the hallways, his feet moving nonconsciously as he recalled the winding map of the castle. He turned a corner, and another. He felt the eyes in the portraits of past Kings follow him as he raced by. Childish memories resurfaced when he glanced at his great-great grandfather with the very exuberant mustache, and his mustachioed wife sitting next to him. At least there was one thing to laugh about in this game of cat and mouse he played.

His heart began to beat in his ears. He was starting to get a headache, and his palm hurt from gripping Areadbhar with such ferocity. He felt so close to what he desired. This battle would be personal, his vendetta against Cornelia finally fulfilled. Anxiety and anticipation built, and rose, and towered, until finally he slammed his shoulder against the large double doors and stepped through the entrance to the throne room.

This was the moment. She would pay for all she had done, to him and to all the others she’d tortured. 

If only Cornelia had been there. 

Disappointment was a bitter mistress. He had become so acquainted with her as of late, she was a familiar taste. Unfortunately, the room was absent of the red haired harpy. And instead, inhabiting the space was _another_ woman, a far less expected, far more _out-of-place_ woman.

His breath left him. His heart seemed to jump out of his chest. His mind stopped working - it had been doing that quite often lately. And perhaps for good reason, many shocking things had happened to him. Many things that did not make sense. Many things that shook him to his core.

Yet, none could be so shocking as the woman laying across his father's throne. His wife. The moon, returned to the sky where she belonged.

Byleth. Byleth Blaiddyd. She lay on her back, with her legs thrown over the arm, and her head resting on the other side. Her hair spilled over the intricate blue embroidery that decorated the velvet fabric of the throne. Her fingers brushed against the ground as soft as feathers. Her chest rose and fell with breath.

A million thoughts, all at once. One question remained the loudest in the cacophony of panic in his mind. How did she get there?

He nearly laughed at himself. She probably just walked. 

“Beloved,” his voice caught in his throat as he took a step towards her still form. His hands shook from nervousness. Would she hate him? Would she regret saving his life? He regretted such a thing, and would understand if she did as well. He found himself gulping down a dry rock in his throat as he stared at her across the room, “You’re awake. Thank the Goddess, I-I thought you’d…”

He thought she’d _never_ wake up. It had only been several weeks of her being asleep, and there was no way of telling just how long it would take for her to recover. Before, it had been five years, yet for Flayn it was thousands. The anticipation of it had set him on edge since Seteth told him of her condition. 

He could not finish his sentence out loud. He took another deep breath, and another step, and another dry gulp. “I'm happy to see you, By. I'm..."

A pause. Reality flickered to his mind like a candle lit in the dark.

"Byleth?"

She did not respond. 

In fact, she did not move at all. 

Disappointment, his cruel mistress, stung him once more. She was on a roll tonight. _How_ could he have been so blind? The hair on his arms and neck stood on end with sudden awareness of his surroundings. The circumstances of her body on the throne became clear with one simple realization: Byleth was _not_ awake. And she had not come here on her own terms.

It meant that someone had taken her here. It meant that his three battalions surrounding her carriage outside of the city were infiltrated, or defeated. It meant that he should've left her in Garreg Mach and ignored the yearnings of his childish, hopelessly in-love heart. It meant that he was an absolute fool.

The chill of a blade on his neck. The warmth of magic at his back. The sudden sound of another person’s breathing behind him. She had appeared so quickly, as if materializing from the shadows themselves. 

“Oh, how _easy_ it was to trap you.”

A familiar purr. A familiar feeling of spiders crawling up his skin.

“Cornelia.”

Dimitri did not bother to hide the contempt in his tone. He could not see her face, but he knew the arrogant voice that spoke to him. She dug the blade deeper in his neck, breaking the skin and sending a sting of pain across his shoulders. Warm blood trickled down his spine. 

“Like my little gift?" A giggle, “It really was _not_ hard to steal your corpse bride there. She doesn’t complain much, does she?”

He glared ahead of him, silent. This game of cat and mouse would not end the way she wanted. With a sudden jerk of his waist, he spun around to swipe the tip of Areadbhar across her chest. Yet, his blade cut through thin air like butter, as if she was never even there. 

He froze. Behind him, another cruel laugh, “You see, I’m a very kind ruler, I let all of my servants and guards go elsewhere. Just to give you a nice little homecoming. I, personally, wanted to be the first to say...” the hot crackle of magic filled the air behind his back, “welcome back home, your highness!”

This was _not_ his home, not with this harpy walking its halls. He ducked, and pushed himself into a roll across the marble floor. The dark magic spell she used sounded like thunder, with lightning striking the spot he just stood in. Cornelia’s lips parted in an offended gasp.

“That’s rude. Stay still!”

She had such a sense of humor. Some things never changed. Dimitri ducked under another a flash of dark lightning, feeling it’s heat sear off the hair on his arms underneath his armor. It burned his cheeks, yet he continued through the pain as he ran towards her, Areadbhar aimed and ready. 

A flash of his lance, a yell as he felt nothing of her body on his blade. She disappeared once more. 

Areadbhar struck the marble flooring. It cracked and spread like a spider web etched into the tile. He was fortunate that the relic could withstand his strength. Scowling, he watched the wisps of magic float around the empty spot like steam. 

Even in his bad humor, he could not resist the mocking tone that escaped his lips, _“That’s rude. Stay still.”_

“Oh, hilarious, Dima. I promise I won’t move again.”

Her voice came from the head of the room. He stood up straight and leaned Areadbhar over his shoulder as he watched her. She now stood beside Byleth, dagger in hand. She threw her head back in a bitter, ugly laugh. Her evasiveness was due to the same spell Hubert often used, transportation magic that was difficult to master. She was intelligent to stay away from him, with the anger boiling in his face, and the strength in his hands.

Demurely, Cornelia gripped a handful of Byleth’s hair. She lifted her head up, and put her dagger to her exposed neck. “My spies told me she survived a knife to the stomach.”

Dimitri’s heart would not calm. His palms grew sweaty, and his tongue remained heavy. He was too far away to throw his lance accurately, and even the smallest of movements of his arms drew Cornelia's dagger deeper into Byleth's neck. He could not reach for his spear on his back, nor could he run to her in time. Frozen, he tried to catch his breath, “Stop, don’t…” He could not find the words that enveloped the sheer panic racking his body. 

A sharp smile, “Lets see if she can survive a slit neck, hm?”

His mouth moved before he could think, “What do you want from me?”

Her dagger halted.

She looked up, eyes narrowed as if he was stupid, “For you to die, of course.”

_Of course._ “Don’t hurt her.”

“I kill _her_ first, then you. Two birds, one stone. This may be the only time the Fell Star is vulnerable enough.” A casual shrug, “Then, I’ve won the war for us.”

He would not allow Byleth to be a casualty of this war. He would _not_ allow her to be taken advantage of in this state. He thought he had protected her well enough, and taking her to Fhirdiad would be safe. He did not imagine that Cornelia would steal her body right under his nose.

Dimitri took a step, but the dagger in her hand dug into Byleth’s neck as he did. He froze. His blood ran cold. 

Cornelia took in the expression of horror on his face, as if she was enjoying every minute of it. It was ecstasy for her.

His knees shook. He could barely breathe. 

She narrowed her eyes in pleasure, “Beg.”

“Don’t… Don’t-“

He wanted to collapse. He wanted to take Cornelia by the neck and twist her head off. He wanted to slit her throat in the way she threatened to slit Byleth’s. Yet, if he moved, no matter how quickly he ran to her, she would drag the dagger across her jugular before he could reach her. 

She was about to take his love away. She was about to steal his heart, throw his world into even further darkness - a darkness he didn’t think was possible. It was as if the color of the world was draining away. It was as if he had stopped breathing. Somehow, he managed to gasp out, “Please.”

He did not notice the power that filled the room. He had no awareness of the whispers in Byleth’s ears. And most importantly, little did he know that another pair of eyes opened behind Cornelia’s back. 

_“Get up you fool!”_

It was unheard to the other inhabitants of the room. Byleth would’ve groaned if she did not have a cold blade to her neck. 

This was all, of course, unbeknownst to Dimitri. He stood, frozen, watching Cornelia’s grin grow. 

"Beg!"

He wondered if that would even do anything to help the situation, or if Cornelia was simply being sadistic. He found himself lowering to his knees nonetheless, "Please..."

"You're not very good at begging, your highness. Try harder."

He tried to gulp down his dry throat. He tried to squeeze his good eye shut as if that would stop the world from spinning. He tried to pray, though he did not know how anymore.

Cornelia grinned madly. 

An unseen shift of an arm. A flash of a new blade. 

With a sudden grunt, Cornelia’s smile fell. It melted like ice under the sun. 

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. Dimitri opened his good eye to watch as she stiffened her posture. She did not demand for him to beg, nor did she cut Byleth's throat. She only stared ahead of her, looking surprised.

The dagger in her hand fell first. It clattered on the floor with an ugly noise that was far too loud for the large room. Cornelia followed, face first, with a sickening thump. A dagger stood straight up in the middle of her back.

“Goddess, what a bitch.”

The color that had been drained from the world slowly trickled into focus. The beating of his heart quickened, but not from fear. _Excitement_. 

His knees shook as he dropped Areadbhar on the ground. The harsh chatter of his weapon fell on deaf ears as he ran to Byleth’s side. He dropped to his knees in front of her, but lowered his head as he did not know where to look. He was not worthy to look at her, to be next to her, to hold her as she awakened from her divine rest.

A familiar sigh. She was probably rolling her eyes at him. “You’re so damn dramatic, get up.”

He couldn’t even if he wanted to. Every bone in his body screamed at him to stay down, to keep his good eye closed. For the smallest of seconds, he felt as if he was dreaming. Perhaps this was all some intricate and terrible nightmare. Perhaps he was imagining her voice above him. Perhaps he was dead, and Cornelia had succeeded at killing him. 

He glanced over his shoulder. Red hair sprawled out across the ground, mingling with blood flowing from her wound. She did not breathe, nor move. She was dead, killed by the dagger Byleth wore at her hip. She'd never had to use it before now.

“Dimitri,” annoyance filled her tone, though it was weak, as if she had not used her vocal cords for weeks on end - she hadn’t. Her fingers dig into his hair almost lovingly. 

His heart skipped an excited beat. Her fingers were warm, real, _human_. He let out a shuddering breath at her touch. 

Until she gripped his hair tightly into her fist and yanked his head up so he would be forced to meet her eyes. His gaze widened as he took in the sight of his wife on the throne, still leaning on the arm of the chair, looking pale and half dead in her just awoken stare. 

She glared. Her hair was ruffled and unbrushed. Dark bags rested under her eyes. She had a sickly, corpse-like parlour, with nearly blue lips and colorless cheeks. 

And she was beautiful. To him, in that moment, there was no one in the world that could ever dream of matching her beauty. 

The words left his mouth before he could think of them, “I love you.”

She gripped his hair in her fist even more tightly, and narrowed her eyes.

“I love you, beloved,” a beg, a plea, coupled with a racing heart and relief washing over him in devastating waves, “You have no idea the… t-the relief, the regret- everything! Byleth-“

A scowl, “Quiet.”

How could he be quiet in this moment? He wanted to weep. He wanted to scream, and dance, and kiss her until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to thank the Goddess in prayer. There was no possible way he could be quiet, not then. 

“Byleth-“

“Quiet! Dimitri,” her shoulders shook in pain as she tried to push herself up, remaining unsuccessful, “I can’t move my legs. I-It’s…” a frustrated huff, “It’s just like before. I can’t move.”

He wasn’t there before, when she awoke from her restorative sleep of five years. But he recalled how little muscle she had left, and how she could not even lift her sword. It had not been nearly as long this time, her muscles would not have deteriorated in that way. She still had the strength to push a dagger through skin and bone, killing Cornelia with little effort on her part. And she still had the strength to lift Dimitri’s head by his hair.

From how she glared, he suspected that his worst fears were true. She despised him. Yet, she could not remain here, and there was nobody else to help her. 

Despite the shaking in his knees, he pushed himself up and stood awkwardly in front of her. He leaned down with a hesitant grimace, “I think I’ll have to, uh, carry you?” It came out more as a question than he meant for it. 

She huffed once more, “Fine.” She had no other choice in the matter.

Snaking his arms beneath her legs and back, he hoisted her limp body up against his chest. Byleth crossed her arms and stared straight ahead of her as Dimitri turned around, stepping over Cornelia’s body, and moving away from the dreaded throne. 

He felt as if his relationship with that chair would be far different now. In the past, it was his father’s, one day to be his. His father would be the King, rather than his father, when he sat upon it. And now, it was the spot where Byleth was almost taken away from him, where she awoke, where she saved both of their lives with one swift move of her dagger. 

The grin on his face could not be bitten back. She refused to look up at him as he carried her across the empty room. His footsteps echoed, the only sound between their breathing forms. A light shiver ran down her arms as she frowned, “Where am I? Is this Enbarr?”

His heart skipped once more, “Fhirdiad.”

“Why?” Her brows furrowed. It explained the chill in the air, to be in Faerghus, but Dimitri had been so against returning home before. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly a month, my love.” He answered as he walked, pushing his shoulder against the door to slip her body though. 

Her frown fell into a softer expression as she processed his words. “And what has changed in that month?”

“I…” how to explain it? How could he possibly explain that he felt as if he’d metaphorically died again, and begun anew? How to possibly explain that nearly losing her caused him to finally come to his senses, and think of the living, rather than the dead? How to explain the metamorphoses he’d undergone in such a short time. It seemed nearly impossible. 

He shut his mouth. He could not just let out word-vomit, he needed to think. Byleth despised him now, rightly so. It was disgusting to her to be carried in his arms like a bride. She had thrown her ring at him in Gronder Field that day, and she no longer wished to be married to him. He had no right to call her ‘beloved’ and ‘my love’. He bit his tongue in embarrassed regret. 

No matter her newfound hatred for him, he could not hide his own overwhelming feelings for her. He took a deep breath, putting his thoughts in order as he walked down the hall, turning corner after corner. She waited patiently in his arms, despite her dislike of being manhandled in such a way. 

Her legs remained limp, but the other parts of her body began to regain movement. Her toes wiggled in her boots, which was a first step. Her arms could move easily, but the rest of her body felt numb. She sighed and allowed Dimitri to carry her, following the voices that now echoed down the hallways to his ears. 

His friends had to be _somewhere_ in the castle. The throne room was so far away from where they had entered, only now could he hear them calling out for him. Outside of the castle walls, shouts and cheers of joy were only barely muffled by the stone between him and them. The battle must have been won in the streets, and he had not even been there to help. Guilt nestled itself between the relief and the fear in his mind.

Byleth twisted her neck around to catch a glimpse of the outside world as they passed an arched window. Crowds of soldiers and citizens intermingled in a sea of faces below. She gasped, “What happened?”

“I…” he had to process _this_ thought now among all of the others he was trying to form, “I believe we won. I think we did, at least.”

“In Fhirdiad?” Her eyes were wide with shock as he carried her past another window, “Not Enbarr? I can’t believe it.”

Fhirdiad, the city in the complete opposite direction of Enbarr. It _did_ seem too good to be true, when taking into consideration the absolute monster he’d been for so long. And that would be all Byleth knew, the monster. She had not been awake to see his transformation. 

All he could do was smile. He decided to leave her earlier question unanswered. Why tell her of his change of heart, when she could see it for herself?

The voices of his allies grew even closer, until Ingrid finally appeared around a corner and came to a halt at the sight of the prince carrying an awake Archbishop down the hallway. Her eyes widened, and Dimitri’s smile grew at the sight of the shock on her face. 

“I-I can’t believe it!”

Dimitri stopped in his tracks as Ingrid rushed forward. Byleth put up a hand to her, which was immediately held in frantic joy. Ingrid buzzed with happiness as she searched her face for any sign of this being her imagination, yet the face of her old friend had not changed. She had regained some color in the few minutes it took Dimitri to carry her through the halls, but she was still exhausted and corpse-like. Despite her parlour, she was warm. She was alive and breathing and her eyes were open. Her distaste for the man carrying her lessened as she stared back at Ingrid. 

“Goodmorning,” she stifled a polite yawn, “I’m sorry to sleep for so long.”

Her eyes widened, “I can’t believe it!”

“You already said that.”

“But I can’t!” She turned on her heel and rushed around the corner to the large gathering room, “Byleth’s awake!”

Dimitri could not help the chuckle at the enthusiasm of her announcement. Ingrid rarely showed such exuberance, it was refreshing to see her smile, rather than stare at him with worry. He listened to the chorus of gasps as he carried Byleth into the room where his friends and family awaited him. 

He met a crowd of curious, wide eyes. Byleth’s cheeks turned the most lovely shade of pink as she took in the stares on her limp form. Awkwardly, she raised a hand, and cleared her throat. Dimitri, who would usually be more embarrassed than usual to have the stares of everybody on him, could only smile in pride as he carried the Archbishop to an empty couch. She would be pleased to be free of his arms, he knew. 

“Hey,” Byleth waved in the most awkward way possible. Silence filled the room. Dimitri set her down, and she rested her hands on her thighs, taking in the wonder of the people around her. They were all faces she knew very well, faces she’d taught, and faces she’d fought alongside with. Her cheeks grew warmer as she realized the expression on Dimitri’s lips was pride, of all things. She had not seen him that wear that expression in five years.

And he was smiling, and his good eye shined with clarity, and he did not look half dead with exhaustion. How dare he do all of that while she was asleep! Now, she could not help but scowl and huff. “I’m really, very confused.”

A scoff from Sylvain, “Well, so are we!”

Flayn was the first to break down with emotion. She let out a cry and nearly dropped herself onto the couch beside Byleth, who steadied her with a weak hand. She gripped her arm like a lifeline, “We all thought you were going to sleep forever!”

A casual shrug, “Eh, the dagger didn’t go in that deep.”

“Yes it did! Oh,” Annette now, sitting on Byleth’s other side, “you really scared us, professor. This is like, what? The third time we thought you died? It’s getting old!”

“I agree, but I can’t really help it.”

“Yes you can! Stop dying!"

She would've laughed if it didn't hurt her still recovering system, "I'm sorry."

Annette sighed heavily, "What happened to make you wake up?”

The class and their allies watched as she looked down in thought. She furrowed her dark brows, her hair falling into her face as she stared at her hands in her lap. “I… I heard the Goddess Sothis again. She told me to get up.”

Felix let out a humorless laugh. He had always felt far more casually about the oddities of Byleth and her encounters with the Goddess. “Oh, so you’ve just got a deity for your alarm clock?”

“I guess so. It sounds stupid, right?” She blinked rapidly, as if barely able to use her newly awakened mind, “I know some of you don’t even believe in the Goddess.”

A quick, barely there glance towards Dimitri. He grimaced from his spot behind Rodrigue’s arm, where he had retreated to in his attempt to be less disagreeable to the Archbishop on the couch. Once upon a time, he did not believe in Sothis, but he was a boy then. He was a fool who didn’t understand what Byleth held inside of her. And now, he only understood it just a bit more, but it was enough to renew his faith. 

Not in Sothis, in particular. As real as she was to Byleth, he did not know her personally. He believed in the Goddess with the dark hair and the dark eyes and warm hands. He believed in the Goddess he had married, as unworthy as he was. He believed in the Goddess who now hated him for his madness, and the decisions he had made during that time. 

Yet, he would have to thank Sothis, if she truly did whisper in Byleth’s ear and wake her up. He would try to remind himself to send her a prayer, and show his gratitude. 

The girls gathered around Byleth to tend to her still asleep legs, and ask her more about her experience with her short coma. Sylvain, Felix, and Ashe watched the conversation with interest. Dimitri glanced over his shoulder to find Dedue standing beside the double glass doors that led out to the balcony, staring at the sea of people below. 

It was only then that he realized just how loud it was outside. There were joyful cries, cheers, commands for someone to show their face and give them any kind of reassurance. Next to him, Rodrigue turned from the group and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder, “Is Cornelia gone?”

Dimitri’s heart sank. His words were bitter on his tongue, “Byleth killed her. I… I just stood there and watched, like a coward.”  
  


“You’ll have to tell me more soon,” his brow furrowed in concern as he stepped past him and towards the balcony doors, “but until then, let us focus on the positive. Cornelia is dead, your Highness. Fhirdiad is yours again.”

A shake of his head, a tired sigh. His relief was marred by his distress for the woman on the couch behind him, the woman who glared at him with such ferocity. He needed to put distance between himself and her, if only for her sake, and his own sanity. “Fhirdiad belongs to the people.”

He offered a wry smile, “But they need a leader.”

“I… I don’t think I can be that leader.”

He did not notice the silence of his classmates behind him. He did not notice Byleth watching his tense back with curious eyes. He did not notice the confusion that flashed across her face at _this_ Dimitri, who sighed as if he had a million years of suffering weighing on his shoulders. He took no notice of her, only striding to the balcony doors, almost hesitantly. 

She looked down at her feet and kicked one leg. It was weak, but it was enough. She despised how the dragon sleep made her feel, it was always too tingling and too burning, as if she’d been held too close to a fire for hours. But she was alive, and that was all she could ask for. 

And she was still very, _very_ mad at Dimitri. It felt odd to not wear a ring on her finger. The spot where it usually lay was white against her tanned skin. Even now, with her having ripped it off and rejected it, the shape of the ring still clung to her. 

Dimitri stopped in front of the doors. Nobody below could see him unless he stepped out. He watched the faces of the citizens and soldiers standing in the courtyard, people who had been suppressed and tortured for so very long. He finally came back, and for many it was far too late. How could he repay the lives of those who he had not saved? How could he possibly repay their families? He was too slow, too stupid to have done anything earlier. He took a shuddering breath and put one hand on the glass of the door. 

“You can do this,” Rodrigue whispered, “we’re all with you.”

He looked over his shoulder at Byleth. She stared, face impassive. After a brief moment of eye contact, she looked down, and pursed her lips. He could only wonder if _she_ was with him as well. 

He felt as if there was an invisible string between them, keeping them together, and he was taking scissors to it. His throat was dry as he spoke, “I’m very happy you’re awake, Archbishop.” The string snapped and fell limp between them.

She moved to fidget with the spot where her ring usually sat, and frowned at it's emptiness, “Yes. I’m very happy you, uh, liberated Fhirdiad, your Highness.”

Archbishop, your Highness. So formal, both of their tones cold and unfriendly. She refused to return his gaze.

Just like five years ago, almost. In the Goddess tower, two separate beings going their own way after the weirdest pseudo engagement/proposal he’d ever heard of. Teacher and student, promised to be together one day, referring to each other only as their titles and honorifics. 

It was playful, then. It hurt now. 

He pushed the door open and stepped out to let the cheers of his people engulf him. He put his hands on the balcony and stared down at the sea of faces, though all he could think of was Byleth.

Dedue was at his side. Rodrigue at the other. Gilbert leaned against the wall behind them. Nobody else dared to join, though he would not have protested their presence. He would’ve appreciated having more bodies to hide behind. 

“Do I deserve this?” He tilted his head and stared at the people, barely heard over the thunderous noise below, “Do I deserve to be welcomed back this way?”

He knew he deserved _Byleth_ ’s reaction. He knew he deserved _her_ ire, _her_ cold shoulder. Yet, the cheers of his people were warm, excited and relieved. He wondered what hell they’d been living in this whole time, to be so happy for the return of the prince who’d abandoned them for so long. 

“Yes,” Rodrigue whispered, “you do.”

Incredulous, he looked at him, “I’ve committed so many sins. I’m paying for them now,” a glance at Byleth through the glass doors, still sitting on the couch, watching him with unreadable eyes, “and I will be paying for them forever. I don’t believe I’m worthy of… of this.”

He looked thoughtful, proud. “Son, I believe you are. And they do too,” a glance at the crowd below, “but if you want to believe it, why not prove it? To yourself and to her.”

Prove it. To prove it to himself, and to Byleth. He knew that he would never be able to do so fully, that was an impossible task. But to lead a better life, to be the best leader he could be, perhaps that would be enough for _himself_. 

Dimitri’s world spun for Byleth. His heart beat for her. She was his moon, his stars. And she was awake, in his lifetime no less. With her resentment of his choice - choosing Edelgard over her - the best he could possibly do was to be the person she had always wished for him to be. 

With her as the motivation, he felt as if he could do it. He felt as if he could climb even the highest of mountains. 

He closed his eyes and let the Faerghus air kiss his cheeks. The crowd cheered below. He soaked it in like the soft drizzle of a rain. 

It was time to heal, as difficult as that would be. He would not expect her to forgive him, for how could she? In his opinion, he’d done the worst, chosen another woman, another path in life, something that went against everything she had ever asked of him. He knew his mistake was larger than what husbands _usually_ did. 

But he would be the leader she had wanted him to be. He would love her from afar, and let her live her life happily. 

Even if that meant they were not together. 

He raised one hand to the crowd. They cheered. In this spot, surrounded by people, he was entirely alone. He did not know what to say, and the citizens below did not seem to _need_ any pretty speeches. There were none that could capture the moment, this liberation, this excitement.

Slowly, he turned around, left the balcony. He avoided Byleth's watchful eyes as he left the room without another word.


	15. The Awakening of Byleth Blaiddyd

_And I knew your heart I couldn't win_   
_Cause the seasons change was a conduit_   
_And we'd left our love in our summer skin_

_\- 'Summer Skin' Death Cab for Cutie_

* * *

Goddess incarnate, heaven embodied. The most beautiful sight Byleth had ever seen. A warmth filling her chest and holding her heart in a feeling akin to a mother’s touch. Comfortable, familiar darkness. Green eyes staring down at her from atop a throne. 

Sothis was furious. 

“I won’t be around to get you out of trouble forever, you know!”

“I know.”

“Then _why_ do you keep almost dying? It’s like a sport to you!”

“It’s not like I choose to almost die.”

“You do! I’ve seen it, you get into perfectly preventable situations!”

“...I’ve missed you.”

Sothis’s glare did not waver, it never would. Her hands gripped the sides of her stone throne as she scowled. The twist of her lips lasted until Byleth offered a smile, and the Goddess was defeated. She slumped back into her throne, “I suppose… I’ve missed you too.” 

Byleth's smile grew larger, a rare sight. Sothis was her dearest friend, a part of her soul. Guilt crept it’s way into her heart, “I thought we could never see each other again?” She had devoured her and used her power to rip a hole in the sky. The nightmares of that day were unending. 

Sothis sighed and rested her cheek in her palm, “I am a part of you, as you are a part of me. I’m still here-”

“Here?”

She huffed, “Don’t interrupt me. I’m here,” she put a slim finger over her heart, “I’m part of you, and when you’re in trouble you may use my power to assist yourself.”

Byleth furrowed her brows, “That sounds kind of silly. Like some childish novel about the power of friendship.”

“I can’t change the way the universe works!”

“But… you can. You’re the Goddess.”

“No,” Sothis snapped, “ _You’re_ the Goddess!”

“Me? I’m not the Goddess.”

“Yes you are!”

She frowned and copied her childish huff, crossing her arms over her chest and staring into the darkness beyond the throne, “I’m really not.”

Sothis slumped back and groaned. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, rolled her eyes, grimacing. Byleth had often worn that same expression when teaching her class a particularly confusing subject. She watched the Goddess, noting the sharpened ears and the wild hair. She looked like a child, but the slope of her nose and the round shape of her cheeks betrayed a mirror image that haunted her thoughts. She had never noticed it before: Sothis and Byleth looked alike. They could be sisters. 

She fingered her own sharpened ears through her hair and frowned. Before her ‘death’, she had felt inhuman. It was the rage, the fury at her husband and the sheer power she felt from the emotion, coupled with something _else_ inside of her. She had devoured Sothis five years ago, and she had been made whole. She had began to undergo changes that were turning her into something else entirely. 

“Am I… really supposed to be the Goddess?”

Sothis opened her eyes boredly, “Yes. You are.”

“I…” Byleth tasted the words on her tongue, hating the sick feeling of uncertainty seeping through her body, “I don’t really want to. _You’re_ the Goddess.”

“I am you.”

“You’re not me.”

“You have my heart.”

“This?” She pointed to her chest, “It doesn’t even work!”

She lifted her chin into the air, “I think it’s been working quite well, actually. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Byleth wasn’t _aware_ she was alive. Byleth felt dead, with the ghost of a stab wound in her abdomen still lingering. And perhaps this was the afterlife, she wouldn’t know. Perhaps she was seeing Sothis for the last time before whatever monstrosity threatening her mortal body destroyed her. The uncertainty was maddening. 

Yet, the stone did work. She was alive because of it, though it felt like a cursed existence. 

To have Sothis’s heart, that explained the mystery of her transformation. The ears and the eyes, the hair, the draconic sleep she began five years ago. She had a piece of a very old dragon Goddess inside of her, and if allowed, might become one herself. 

Terrifying. 

Byleth rarely felt terrified. The feeling made her want to vomit. 

“Please just tell me what’s happening,” her shoulders slumped, and her eyes pleaded to the girl on the throne, “No more arguing and vague secrets. I just want to know what’s happening to me.”

A heavy sigh. Sothis stood, and stared down at her. She pursed her lips, and tilted her head. Long hair dragged across cold stone, and ribbons draped down the steps. “You wish for an explanation?”

“More than anything.”

“Where would you like me to start?”

A loaded question for a loaded answer. Dumbfounded, Byleth exhaled in annoyance, “I don’t know! Just tell me what’s happening!”

“So bossy…” she murmured, “Fine, fine. You’re about to die for real. Since you were in dragon sleep you’re… inside of yourself, I suppose.” She looked thoughtfully into the distance, “which is why you see me, because I am inside of you. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Yes, well, that’s life,” a nonchalant shrug, “you would not be able to see me under normal circumstances. Think of my intervention like, well, I suppose it’s like adrenaline, or instinctual. My power is here to protect you.”

Byleth shifted uncomfortably, “Protect me from what?”

“The dagger at your throat.”

That made sense. A dagger at her throat _would_ make her adrenaline race. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, “If you’re inside of me, then how do you know what’s going on with my body?”

Sothis huffed, “One of us has to keep watch! You’re just snoozing away out there!”

“I thought you didn’t even exist anymore.”

“I exist!” She tensed in anger, fists clenched at her sides and foot stomping, “You have my heart! When you die is when I’ll cease to exist!”

“Well… I mean, if I die then we’ll _both_ cease to exist, really.”

She sniffed boredly, “Terrible, isn’t it?”

Yes. “So what will happen next?”

“Oh,” Sothis waved a hand, “I’ll just wake you up. You can take care of it from there.”

Byleth was flabbergasted, and mildly offended. She tensed, “You’re not going to turn back the hands of time?”

The Goddess snorted, “I can’t do that anymore. That’s your power. All I can do is try to wake your mortal body up.”

She had done it once before, on a riverbank in Northern Adrestia. It was not the capabilities of Sothis that worried Byleth, but rather the topic of their earlier argument. Goddesshood. And power. Who she was, who they were together. Having no knowledge of the world and of herself sat in Byleth’s stomach and festered like an open wound. It stung. It ate at her. 

Sothis watched her with curious eyes. Byleth finally gulped, and looked up to meet her gaze. Her expression softened, though she said nothing. A final meeting between the two, unless Byleth put herself in another life threatening situation. She had had enough of those for her lifetime. 

“I’ll miss you.”

Sothis offered a grin, “Yeah. I know.”

“I have missed you, so much.”

“Yes,” a slow, condescending nod, “I know.”

“I just…” Byleth worried her lip, “I just have one question before we part.”

“Yes?”

To gather her thoughts was to count the number of sand granules on the beach. Yet, the wound still festered, and it still ate her, and she could not let it go unanswered. “Sothis,” Byleth tasted the name on her tongue with a melancholy sickness settling in, “Is what you said earlier true? Am I the Goddess now?”

Her eyes widened. She stiffened and lowered herself onto her throne. Her hands fiddled with each other in her lap as she thought. “I… don’t know.”

A heavy pause. The void was silent, deafeningly so. 

“To be honest, was _I_ even a Goddess?” She tilted her head and looked into the black velvet distance, “I created humanity, yes, I was worshipped. But in truth, I was just a dragon. I was just the first of my kind, something ancient and unexplainable. Does that make me a Goddess?”

She blinked in confusion, “I’d think so, yes.”

“But what made me a Goddess?” She rested her chin in her palm, “Creation? Worship?”

Byleth was beginning to lose track of the conversation, “Yes?”

“Are _you_ a creator? Are _you_ worshipped?”

She froze. “...No.”

“And when you die then I will be gone, unless your heart is put into another viable body-”

“I would never do what Rhea did.”

Sothis smiled, “Then it is decided, I will cease to exist, just as I was meant to in that darkness long ago.”

“And what... does that mean for the world?” Fodlan with no Goddess, no creator. Would erasing Sothis’s life energy mean the end for every living being? Byleth felt suffocated, anxious. She despised the feeling. 

Yet, Sothis did not show concern. She leveled her with a calm look, an expression far beyond the age of her face. A sigh, with a thoughtful smile gracing her lips. Goddess incarnate, heaven embodied - the relief Byleth felt at seeing her lost friend, who had saved her life once again. 

“Does Fodlan need a Goddess? Have they even had one after my death? That is for you to decide.” Sothis leaned forward on her throne, “Seiros made her decision long ago, and _she_ became the Goddess of the people quite willingly. Will you do the same?”

The Goddess of the people. A leader. Rhea did not create humanity, nor did she shape the ground or the skies. She never controlled nature, and she never gave life, besides the walking corpses with crest stones she called daughters. She was a shadow of Sothis. A copy, reaching for something far beyond her power. 

Sothis was not coming back to the world as the divine dragon she once was. Byleth would not be Sothis. Rhea had been the Goddess throughout the centuries, worshipped and looked to for guidance. And Byleth had that same opportunity. 

The realization hit her like a slap to the face. She was the Archbishop. She could do what Rhea did, and she could use her powers to shape the world. That was what Edelgard wanted, her goals for Fodlan and the society she was attempting to create from this war. Rhea and Edelgard both played God. Byleth could do the same, if she wished. 

Breathless, she raised her head, “Do I want that?”

Sothis shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” her gaze flattened, “you know my heart as your own.”

“Yes, but,” she giggled, “I want you to figure it out yourself. It builds character.”

“Sothis plea-”

“Get up,” she snapped, “you’ve been here long enough!”

Panic skipped through her chest, “I want answers-”

“Go, Byleth. Wake up!”

“Pl-”

“Get up you fool!”

It was too soon. Far too soon. 

There was cold steel on her skin, threatening her jugular. Whoever wielded the blade knew where to slice to draw out a long, bloody death. With one flick of the dagger, she would drain, and bask in the pain of life leaving her indefinitely. No amount of dragon sleep would heal that wound. 

"You're not very good at begging, your highness. Try harder."

Byleth opened her eyes. Her legs were numb as if crushed. Her fingers twitched and tensed with anxiety. This unfamiliar room with white walls and high ceilings was cold, and all she wanted was to be free. This was her third chance at life, there would not be many more. 

She reached for the dagger at her hip. The woman above her was not looking at her, and why would she? Why would the corpse be moving? Byleth pulled her blade, and rammed it into her back. 

The woman froze. She tilted her sore neck to look up at the figure, noting the red hair cascading in waves over her shoulders. She had never met her, not that she could remember. Her skin was pale and ashy like that of Kronya and Solon’s, and her fingers were cold as they loosened their grip on the blade at Byleth’s neck. 

The dagger clattered to the ground, as the woman’s body followed. 

Byleth’s whole body was sore. All she wanted was to sleep. 

“Goddess, what a bitch.”

* * *

There was something about being carried through the hallways of a castle by the man she had extremely mixed feelings for that frustrated Byleth to no end. She couldn’t put her finger on it. 

Dimitri had smelled like evergreens and sweat. Byleth had the ardent desire to dissolve into his arms and never leave. 

“I could kill him. I could rip out his throat and feed it to the Monastery dogs.”

“Archbishop,” Mercedes tittered at her side, “I don’t think that’s very healthy for the dogs.”

“I _don’t_ like being manhandled. Or taken care of. Or anything he's done in-”

“But," she interjected with a whisper, "were you able to walk on your own?”

No, she was not. Byleth’s legs boiled with heat and fury from the divine sleep, taking even one step would have her collapsed onto the cold marble floors. It was a feeling akin to the numbness of nearly a year ago, when she awoke on the riverbank. She was grateful for the lack of mud this time. 

Ignoring Mercedes’ logic, she stared ahead of herself, towards the glass doors of the balcony. The cheers from the crowd outside were deafening. Dimitri stood, blue cloak brushing against the ground, hands gripping the railing like a lifeline. Rodrigue rested a fatherly hand on his shoulder. 

And she should be out there beside him. 

But she could kill him, rip out his throat, and feed it to the Monastery dogs. She was sure the citizens of Fhirdiad did not want to see that. 

Silent, Mercedes worked on her numb legs. Golden faith magic covered her bottom half, while Flayn and Annette squeezed her hands. They were like anchors, the only things keeping Byleth awake in that moment. Exhaustion threatened her mind, and pain threatened her patience. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out there?” Annette whispered as she ran a brush through Byleth’s hair, an effort to make her look somewhat presentable, and less like a walking corpse. “Dimitri’s a bit…”

She flicked her eyes to Felix, looking for an argument. He leaned against a bookshelf with crossed arms, his eyes on his father on the balcony. Outside, Dimitri raised a hand, and the cheers of the citizens grew to new proportions. Felix only snorted as if it was amusing. 

She looked to Annette for answers, “A bit what? Calmer? Anybody with eyes could see that.”

“It’s not just that…” she bit her lip and stared at the ground, “he’s different, in a way. I can’t really explain it.”

He had carried her through the hallways so gently. He had knelt in front of her as she awoke, he had confessed his love for her. He was soft. He was polite and detached, like the man she knew five years ago. He liberated Fhirdiad, instead of going to Enbarr. He saved his people. 

“I’m tired, Annie.”

“Come on, let’s go rest.”

“No, I mean I’m tired of it all.” 

Annette, Flayn, and Mercedes paused in their work. Flayn offered a comforting squeeze of her hand, while Mercedes met her eyes with a knowing look. She always knew, there was nothing she couldn’t discern when it came to matters of the heart. 

“Professor?” Annette laid the brush in her lap and folded her hands, “Are you okay?”

Dimitri stood on the balcony. He began to address the crowd. And Byleth was not okay. "I can't act like this. I can't let you all see me this way."

Mercedes stood from her spot on the ground. She held out her hand to the Archbishop, and smiled like a mother would to a child. Every eye in the room lingered on Mercedes as she spoke, “When the heart is broken, it cannot be so easily put back together. No broken glass can be glued into it's perfect old shape. Don't feel guilty for being human, professor."

Do not feel guilty for being human. Do not feel like a failure for a broken heart, for the feelings that shaped who she would become. 

Mercedes was an infinite well of wisdom. 

Byleth took her hand, “Will _you_ marry me instead?”

“No, thank you. I’d rather not steal the King’s wife.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the class. It was a moment of normality, of fun and jokes amidst the dawn of a new era. Outside of the room, the city and the country were changing. And Byleth was the King’s wife. No matter how hard she threw the ring at him, no matter how broken her heart was. Only an obscene amount of paperwork and fights would change that fact. 

Jeralt would want her to keep going. Jeralt would tell her to suck it up and move on with her life, cross that bridge when she got to it. Dimitri stood on the balcony, finishing his address to the people. She watched the back of his head as he nodded, and gestured with his right hand. His voice was barely audible over the sheer noise of the crowd. 

All she could do was cross that bridge when she came to it. In this moment, her mixed feelings could be ignored. She did not have the energy to approach them like an adult, and she did not have the peace of mind to mend her heart.

“What do normal people do to distract themselves?” She asked Flayn, who only shrugged. 

Annette and Mercedes shared a conspiratory grin, before Mercedes squeezed her hand in excitement, “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

Annette squealed, “We should cook a big feast! Like, a really big one!” She spread her arms apart, though the span of her limbs could not encompass the mischief gleaming in her eyes, “And make sure all of the servants and guards are okay! And then we throw a huge party! We can all dance and eat and drink the night away, and… well,” she smiled bashfully, “we can forget all of our problems, just for one night.”

Her excitement was contagious. Byleth found her chest contracting in something unexplainable, whether it be happiness or concern. It was a pretty thought, to forget about life - a tempting thought. 

“And afterwards?” Byleth whispered, eyes wide, “What’s happened while I’ve been asleep? Is Edelgard still…”

Hesitant silence. Annette bit her lip and looked at the tile floor as if it held great interest. Nobody would meet her eyes, answering Byleth’s question. 

Yet, the temptation proved too strong. 

“ _One_ night. Just one. And then after tonight, we do what we need to clean up this city, gather resources, and we continue the battle.”

Mercedes caught her gaze with intelligent eyes, and a knowing smile. She crossed her arms and giggled, “And what will _you_ be after tonight?”

There was an easy answer to a loaded question. Byleth returned the smile, “I will be the Archbishop, until I’m not needed any longer.”

“And after that?”

“An old witch in the forest that sells potions made from the herbs in my backyard garden.”

“You won’t be married?” She tilted her head innocently. She was laying the bait, trying to get Byleth to bite. 

She could only smirk. It was a bitter expression, underlined with pain and heartbreak, melancholy humor that fed on the most sarcastic parts of her soul. 

“We’ll just have to see.”

* * *

The party of epic proportions did not happen. Annette was crushed, and promptly comforted by Felix’s awkward arm around her waist. Byleth and Dimitri could not stand to watch them any longer. 

If someone had told Dimitri that one day he would be insanely jealous of Felix Fraldarius’s relationship, he would have laughed and announced that pigs would fly before that ever happened. He could not be jealous of _any_ relationship involving Felix, as he loved far differently than him, and any woman who adored Felix had to be insane. 

Annette was, but that was beside the point. 

Dimitri stood in the corner of the reception hall. This was his home, these corridors that he had walked his entire life. They carried the ghosts of the past with every stain of the wallpaper and dusty torch holder. He could hardly stand to look at it all without another heavy sip of red wine. 

“Annette," Felix hissed in a mixture of annoyance and concern, "it’s not your fault we don’t have enough food for a feast. This is still… you know, it’s still nice. It’s not-”

“Shut up!” She punched his arm, and buried her face into his shoulder, “I’ve failed! I promised Byleth a feast! I promised her a good night! And I've failed! I've _never_ failed!”

Byleth used to bury her face into Dimitri's shoulder in the exact same way. She used to hold him like that, she used to snap at him and nag like an angry old maid. She used to _want_ to touch him. 

Now, she stood to the opposite side of the room, a mirror image of his own discomfort and anxiety. 

Dimitri raised his glass to his lips and let his gaze linger on the Archbishop in the distance. They were not in the main ballroom, but the reception hall that proved more cozy than the high ceilings and golden walls of the ballroom. Here, a table had been set up to fit the class and their allies, surrounded by servants who had come forward as fired by Cornelia in the last several weeks. The feast was quickly put together, but there was very little food. 

Yet, if his countrymen were to starve from Cornelia’s tyranny, then who was _he_ to have a feast? He was satisfied with the small bit of chicken and potatoes they found in the cellars below the palace. The rest of the provisions were passed to those who needed it most among the city. If his people starved, so did he. It was the most he could do to soothe the great guilt boiling in his chest. 

Byleth watched Annette and Felix as well. She scowled behind her own glass, and leaned on the wall in an image of divine beauty. She was pale, her hair was messy, and she had not taken in food in weeks. She looked weak. She looked divine. All he wanted to do was hold her. 

He could not. Felix and Annette continued their antics - which were not all that sweet, or affectionate, or cute at all. Yet, they were enough to make Dimitri scowl in jealousy. Felix had a loving fiance, while his own wife avoided him like the plague. 

Not that he blamed her. He understood it completely. 

“Disgusting, isn’t it?”

Sylvain was far more intuitive than he let on. He took the spot beside Dimitri, sipping on his own glass of wine. The King grunted in response, and sighed. “It’s fine. They’re happy,” he gestured with his glass, “I’m happy for them.”

“But I mean,” Sylvain grimaced, “it’s gotta hurt, right?”

A frown, “Did you just come here to point out the obvious?”

Sylvain reared back and put his hands up in defense. He laughed, a nervous sound that betrayed his hidden feelings underneath. “I mean no offense, your Majesty. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Another pounding of his oncoming headache, and Dimitri let out a sigh. He rubbed his forehead and shook his head as guilt sunk into his heart. Sylvain didn’t deserve his ire. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. It’s… I suppose it’s become a habit now, to be snappy.”

“You’re trying, though,” he patted his shoulder, “and that’s what matters.”

Dimitri resisted the urge to argue. It was easy to be self deprecating, to hate himself. He didn’t think he _deserved_ to like himself, or to be kind to his own volatile emotions, nor to have understanding from his friends. It felt like a crime that Sylvain touched him without disgust, and tried to empathize with his struggles. 

Uncomfortable, he took another tasteless sip and sighed, “I’ve missed her.”

“I know…”

“A lot.”

“I know,” he chuckled, “I can tell. Why don’t you just give her flowers and apologize?”

Incredulous, Dimitri whipped around to face him. "Flowers? _That's_ what you suggest?"

"Women like flowers." He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Tell me honestly, Sylvain, has that ever worked for you? Flowers, and a simple ‘I’m sorry’.” His frustration rose, “Could that fix the marriage I’ve ruined, truly?”

He was not in the mood for Dimitri’s sarcasm. Looking away, Sylvain tipped his wine glass back and finished it off. His eyes held a barely concealed glare, “If you really want to know, then yes. It’s not as simple as I make it sound, but yes, your Majesty.”

The stem of Dimitri’s glass was beginning to crack and splinter under pressure. “I have taken her for granted for so long. I have given my love, and then stolen it away just as easily. And finally, Goddess _finally_ I made it clear how I felt. I made it clear that she was not my first choice in life, and I chose Edelgard. Flowers cannot heal the months of disappointment I have burdened her with!”

Chaos ensued. They were beginning to draw a crowd to their argument as Sylvain whipped around to him, “Then what, Dimitri? Are you going to mope around and do nothing? What else do you expect to happen?”

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

“You can’t do that! You love that woman, don’t you?”

His breath caught in his throat. He quieted against the sudden pang in his chest, horrible torture at the reminder of just _how much_ he loved her. It felt as if it was too much for his own flesh to handle. “Y-Yes.”

Sylvain was the wisest man in the world in that moment. He was the slap in the face, the stern father with his child. He was the caring friend who just wanted the people he loved to be happy. He locked Dimitri in place with the look in his eyes, “Then do something about it.”

He teetered on the edge of a cliff, two inches from falling to his disaster. Breathless, his hand shook and his grip tightened, “I can’t-”

“You _can_!” He yelled, “You can be a nice person! You can show her that you’ve changed!”

_“I haven’t changed!”_

The shattering of glass. His voice was a roar that echoed through the halls. It bounced off the walls and silenced all conversation. Shards of glass scattered across the floor, mingling with the wet remnants of his wine. Every eye in the room landed on the King. The world weighed on his shoulders. He felt as if he was holding up the sky itself. His throat closed and threatened to suffocate his very being, and he would thank it for ending his existence. 

Sylvain stepped away from the puddle of broken glass and red wine. He leveled Dimitri with a look far too serious for his face. It spoke a thousand words. “Dimitri, I say this as your friend, so do not mistake me. But you are stubborn, and short sighted. That is why Byleth left you. You cannot see beyond your nose. You _have_ changed, your Majesty, but you are so damn caught up in your grief and personal suffering that you hurt everybody around you.”

A pause. Sylvain took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He pointed across the room to Byleth, who stared with shock and awe flashing over her face. Her gaze stayed glued to the seething King. 

“Pick her some damn flowers,” Sylvain snapped, “and stop being compassionate to others simply for the sake of your own feelings. Pick her flowers because you know she likes them, nothing more and nothing less. And stop throwing yourself a pity party.”

Sylvain’s footsteps were the loudest sound in the room. They echoed above the whispers of soldiers and friends as he parted through the curious crowd. Dimitri watched him go, gripping what was left of his wine glass. 

His expression remained unreadable. His shoulders shook, but his eyebrows pulled together in concern and hurt. His good eye told a story that nobody besides his closest family could read. He gulped, and turned to a nearby maid, “I’m terribly sorry about that,” the broken glass and the wine spill, “I’ll clean that up later. I-I just… I need…”

He set the broken glass stem on a table and rushed out of the room. Servants would later gossip that it was the fastest they’d ever seen His Majesty move. He was out the doors and walking in the courtyard before anybody could argue. 

The outside world provided a much needed blast of cold air against his cheeks. He let the doors slam shut behind him, and looked up to the velvet black sky. Stars winked at him from above, unaware of the troubles he went through. Sylvain’s words echoed in his mind on repeat.

To be compassionate without thinking of his own feelings, it was a vague statement. But, it made sense. It made more sense than Dimitri wanted to admit. His compassion, his empathy, his love - they were all genuine and sincere, but they came from a place of fear. His compassion for the dead, it was born out of terror and guilt. His compassion for the living: born out of a desire to be loved and appreciated. 

Pick flowers for Byleth, not because he wanted to be loved by her, but because he knows she likes them. 

And apologize to her, not to be forgiven, but because that is what she deserves. 

And then commence loving her from afar, expecting nothing in return. 

Dimitri closed his eyes to the sky and said a prayer. It was a whisper to Sothis, a prayer of gratitude for bringing Byleth to life. If Sothis did not exist, then Byleth would not exist. To simply thank her for that would never be enough. 

With a heavy sigh and a clenching heart, he set off towards his mother’s old rose garden. It was overgrown and wild with thorns that stung it's admirers, but it had the potential to bring happiness, the potential to be something beautiful.

For once, in a long time, his head began to clear. It was clearer than the day he lost Byleth. It was clear, and he found himself smiling for the sake of smiling. Byleth stood in the doorway of the palace where he had just left, and watched him trudge towards the gardens. He felt her eyes on his back, and her presence in his mind. 

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Her face remained impassive, unflinching, though her fingers shook. Slowly, hesitantly, she let the door shut behind her, and approached him. Five feet away, she stopped, and the two stared at each other in unreadable, hidden affection. 

He gulped. He could hear Sylvain's voice in the back of his mind. Give her flowers because Byleth likes them, not to earn her love or to make _himself_ feel better. Give freely, and expect nothing in return. 

He used to live like that. He used to be that way. Everything had changed so drastically, re-learning basic decency was more of a challenge than he would have guessed. Byleth continued to stare at him with blank, unreadable eyes.

His throat was dry and his tongue was heavy. His stomach hurt, and his palm stung from glass shards. He licked his lips, and opened his mouth, "Do you like roses?"

She nodded.

"Can I... pick you some?"

The castle was lit up with golden light behind her, illuminating her figure in the shadows. Her eyes flickered to the overgrown bushes, "If you can do so without hurting yourself."

He had the feeling that more was being said underneath the simple words they exchanged. "I don't want it to hurt you either. I can... I can cut the thorns off so it won't stab you?"

Byleth pursed her lips and nodded. "Okay. But I'll only accept one, that's all I can take right now."

"One," he assured breathlessly, turning to an overgrown bush and unsheathing the dagger at his side, "I understand."

She had asked him to not hurt himself, as metaphorical as that was. Careful to heed her request, he reached for a spot in the bush that was clear of thorns, and grabbed one bright red rose. He snapped it with his dagger, and pulled the thorns off the side. Just one. It was all she could take right now.

Her laugh caught him off guard, "This is stupid. Neither of us are good at beating around the bush like this."

Had they ever been this subtle and vague with each other? Had they ever kept their true words secret, spoken in double meanings? She was correct, neither of them were good at it. He could not help the chuckle under his breath while he worked on the stem, "I wouldn't say I'm _beating_ this bush, I'm just cutting it a little."

"That was a terrible joke," she took the flower and held it close to her chest, smiling at the ground, "I'm glad your sense of humor is still intact."

The words slid off his tongue before he could stop them, " _I'm_ glad you're alive."

Byleth raised her head. Their eyes met, but there was no understanding between them. The joy that glimmered on her face just seconds ago began to vanish, and she let out a heavy sigh. Dimitri's heart dropped into his stomach as he realized that he was offering her too much when she was so obviously not ready for it.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she turned away, rose in her hand and eyes on the ground.

Time would heal all wounds, he knew this. It had not even been a full day of her awakening, and he was already acting on his impatience. With a stone in his throat and his heart falling out of his stomach and to the ground below, he managed to stutter out a weak, "G-Goodnight, Archbishop."

"I hope you sleep well, Your Majesty."

It would be a long climb back to the surface he fell from. It would be hard to regain her trust. It would take work, dedication. He was back to square one.

"And the same for you... Archbishop."


	16. The Tragic Renewal of Byleth Blaiddyd

_Oh, the devil's inside.  
You opened the door, you gave him a ride  
Too young to know, too old to admit that you couldn't see how it ends _

_\- 'My Eyes' The Lumineers_

* * *

"And the same for you... Archbishop."

Square one, though it felt more like square zero. 

Byleth had missed that smile of his, that very _specific_ smile right before a dumb joke that was not funny in the least. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To tell a joke that had no semblance to actual humor, that was what made it funny. It was one of the rare times when Byleth would see Dimitri look truly happy. 

In the past, she would dwell. She would stand there, painting him on her memory. It felt like a crime to turn around and walk away. 

The courtyard was beautiful at night, if not overgrown. Vines crawled up the sides of the castle, coupled with weeds and tall grass brushing against the old brick and stone. Byleth held her flower close to her chest and strode down the cobblestone path, towards the source of light steaming out from the castle’s glass doors. Behind her, Dimitri stood in the shadows, surrounded by a wall of thorny rose bushes. 

She could laugh out loud at how idiotically dramatic it all was. Since when did she and Dimitri become romance novel heroes? They had always been honest with each other, open and clear - blunt, even, on Byleth’s side. Dimitri did not speak in doubles, nor did he enjoy symbolism. But there he was, reaching out a hand in his attempt to make some sort of odd, unspoken peace. 

It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it was time, not to Byleth. She walked past the doors and turned a corner around the castle gardens. She did not want to be seen by anyone, not with her red cheeks and her racing heart. In the past, she would scold herself for feeling like a school girl in love, but she knew that it was not _love_ that caused such panic to rush through her veins. 

Byleth Eisner was exhausted. Sleep deprived, even - which felt ironic, since she’d been asleep for a month straight. 

Her legs continued to reverberate with a buzz as she walked. The feeling was dim, but it remained as a reminder of what her body did. She supposed she should be grateful that she was alive, that she could simply take a very long nap and then wake up fresh as a spring daisy. But it didn’t feel good, it felt bitter, it felt cloudy and created a pit in the bottom of her stomach. 

So much seemed to change over the month she was asleep. Dimitri was fine now, apparently, as fine as he could be. It was not that she wanted him to stay in his feral state, it was more so the feeling of bitterness that settled into her stomach. 

So, she falls asleep, nearly gives her life for him, and what happens? He gets better, he recovers so easily. A small voice in the back of her head attempted to remind her that nothing is ever _that_ easy - and perhaps that's why she felt so hesitant. Perhaps she knew that it was not over quite yet. 

Entering through a back door and taking the hallway of stairs to the second floor, Byleth walked in silence. She held her rose and glared at each pattern in the old wallpaper as she passed. This was Dimitri’s home, the halls he walked as a child. She thought that one day it would be _her_ home as well. 

He cannot _surely_ be better. And Byleth was exhausted. She was so damn exhausted from the constant push and pull of his emotions. She glanced at her empty finger, the tan line from her ring had disappeared as if it had never sat there in the first place. 

That fact of the matter is that she would _never_ be first in his life. He proved that to her just a month ago. It was always Edelgard, vengeance, the ghosts of his past.

And she was exhausted. 

Was it absolutely terrible of her to be emotionally exhausted from her husband’s trauma? A bit, she thought, just a _bit_ terrible. 

But she was only human, no matter what Sothis and Seteth said. She was born human, and she would remain as such. She did not want to be Archbishop forever, she did not have plans to become a Queen. She was just a stupid kid that loved Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and had to deal with the consequences. 

Opening the door to her guest room, she surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. It was one of the bigger rooms in the castle, though it was an entire level away from Dimitri’s. The servants were perceptive enough to realize that the King and future Queen would not do well sharing a bed - though Byleth slept so much better at his side. She appreciated the privacy, the space to herself, and the softness of the mattress. 

The castle was beautiful, but old. The decor had not been changed in years, though that did not bother Byleth very much. She recalled five years ago when Dimitri told her stories of his childhood in the castle halls, how he would feel as if the eyes of the paintings followed him everywhere, and how the East wing was thought to be haunted. He had plans, then, he was going to redecorate and simplify the decor, Byleth always liked that idea, she’d like to live in a simple place. 

It was looking as if, though, that she would be a happier in a simple home _away_ from this castle and city. The plan was laying itself out before her very eyes: on a mountain, the one where her father was born. She’d build a cabin and she’d have a garden. She would not be Archbishop any longer, no matter who tried to convince her. She would be happy, and eat honeysuckle, and not have to worry about anyone besides _herself_. 

It sounded like heaven. Sweet relief. She could not wait for Edelgard’s death and the end to this war. 

And she would not _have_ to. Not with her mind moving at the speed it did, not with the buzz of sudden energy flowing through her veins. Byleth smiled and dropped the rose into a vase, settling it in the window and watching the silhouette in the moonlight. 

Jeralt’s visage came to mind, and she recalled that her own father had once been a situation much like this. He did not know why his daughter never smiled, why she never cried - he had lost his wife for this emotionless doll, and Rhea kept looking at him with those expectant eyes. The passages in his journal had captured his emotions so well, his desire to run away and start a new life as a new person. Byleth had read those passages over and over like gospel. 

One did not need to end their existence to begin anew. How _desperately_ Byleth wanted to begin anew - not as Archbishop, or a professor, or the Ashen Demon. She’d never liked that nickname, she was only Archbishop from necessity, and she really wasn’t cut out for teaching. 

Especially ‘Queenship’, that was just one step under Archbishop-ness. A terrible thought, even if it involved Dimitri. 

He could begin anew as well, he’d already started. Byleth Eisner felt like a relic of his past. 

She could not wait to kill Edelgard. 

**A Week Later**

Seteth broke the news in the most unexpected of ways. He always did that, splintered her expectations and threw them to all four corners of Fodlan. It was as if he took some sick sort of pleasure in being the most inconvenient to the Archbishop that he possibly could. He probably did - Byleth wouldn't put it past him. 

“Our spies have returned. The Empire has forces far beyond human capacity.”

Byleth stopped mid-brush. She pulled back from the mirror, spitting out the water she used on her toothbrush, and wiping her face with her sleeve. The clothes she wore were three days old, but they were the only garments warm enough for Faerghus. And walking around draped in extra blankets was not a good look for the Archbishop, apparently. 

Nor was being bombarded with important news during her morning hygiene routine, but she was used to that kind of nonsense. 

Byleth offered a very intelligent ‘um’ sound for half a minute, before setting her toothbrush down and turning towards Seteth, “What?”

He raised a brow as if she was slow of hearing, “The Flame Emperor has utilized the same weapons you did at Gronder Plain.”

The blood in her veins froze cold. The panic was dim, barely registering among the constant speeding of her mind. She had not been sleeping this week, she was far too excited for her plans. “The… the catapult full of explosives?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. And the blackpowder bombs?”

“Yes.”

“...I see.”

“Do you, though, do you _really_ see?”

Not really. Not at all. 

What she saw was a girl that vaguely looked like Byleth Eisner, chin dripping with water, her hair unbrushed. She had her face, but the look in her eyes and the determination that consumed her chest were entirely of a different kind. What Byleth _saw_ was a possible ending, and nothing else - a way to stop this war in it’s tracks with the technology that Rhea hoarded so selfishly. 

What Byleth _saw_ was an opportunity to put the decisions out of her hand. A selfish girl who was not ready for the consequences of her actions. 

And all she could do was turn around, face Seteth, and force a smile onto her lips. “We’ll just have to fight fire with fire.”

A pregnant pause, “...That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Byleth could only stare at his narrowed eyes and scowl. Seteth, like many others, saw right through her. She missed the days when her emotions were unreadable, when she did not cry so easily. It was pride, impulsive feelings born from stress. Only two months ago Seteth and Gilbert told her that she was risking the lives of her allies, due to her dedication to Dimitri. She was doing it again, though the new dedication was of a different kind. 

“I really want to end this war.”

Seteth’s glare softened. He looked at her in the same way he looked at Flayn. “I know, but this isn’t the way to do it…”

Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. She sighed and turned around, taking a brush through her hair and watching herself in the mirror. This bathroom was far too fancy for her, far too golden and blue and shiny. This entire castle was a foreign entity, discomfort hiding in every corner. Memories of Dimitri attacked her at each side. 

He could start anew and live in this castle the way he was meant to. _This_ was the only way to defeat Edelgard, Byleth knew that. 

“The way I choose is the right way. And that is final."

If she had clear vision and a less clouded head, perhaps if she'd gotten more sleep, she would see the sadness in his eyes. She would see the look he gave her. She was his prodigal son who left home for dimmer horizons. 

"Pride is before a fall, Archbishop."

"Seteth," a snap and a glare, "It's already done and out of my hands. There's nothing I can do any longer. Now, if you'll excuse me," she brought a brush to her hair and closed her eyes, "I really must get on with my day."

* * *

  
  


Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was crowned King on the 7th of the Garland Moon. It was a very boring, very solemn affair.

Byleth refused to meet his eyes as she held the crown over his head. Her voice sounded as if it did not belong to her, while she clumsily recited the lines Seteth had given her. Dimitri smiled as she stumbled over the words in a monotone not indifferent to how she spoke when they first met. Her voice was filled with so much life now, he had forgotten how flat she used to be. He stared at the polished marble flooring underneath and sighed. It was heavy, and his scalp was starting to sweat. He couldn't wait for this ceremony to be over. 

"Do you, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, promise to protect this Kingdom and it's people with your life?"

He nearly missed the oath, the only part of the coronation ceremony that he truly needed to participate in. Jumping to attention, he raised his head to finally meet the Archbishop's eyes. They were flat, green, and staring past his shoulder. His heart dropped into his chest, though he knew he needed to move on with his words. "I do."

Not very long ago he was saying his 'I do' vows in a forest in Adrestia, half a country away from this location in Fhirdiad. His only witnesses were the forest bugs and a terrified priest - He really should go apologize to that priest, now that he thought about it. That day seemed like so long ago. 

Byleth sighed and closed her eyes. She lifted the golden crown between her hands and raised her chin, "Do you promise to live your life in dedication to this Kingdom?"

"I do." Another beat of the drum in his chest. He desperately wanted to cough out the rock in his throat.

"Do you vow to serve the people?"

"I do." Answered so perfectly, as if he had _always_ served them. Once, in his past life, he had. For the last five years, though, his journeys were purely selfish. Guilt stung at him like a million wasps in his stomach, and he did not know if it was the look in Byleth's eyes, or the vows themselves that hurt him to this extent. 

Byleth sighed again as if she had better places to be. "Then Sothis's will be done. The world welcomes you, King Regent of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus."

The pressure of the crown gently placing itself on his head. The sigh of relief waving through the crowd of onlookers, Byleth had not messed up her lines, and Dimitri had not zoned out. It was a perfectly normal, perfectly boring coronation ceremony.

His throat caught as he looked up at her. She finally flickered her eyes to him, and her brows furrowed upon impact. The applause behind him was endless, thundering, and incredibly inaudible. The room was filled with the noise of cheer, but all he could hear was the beating of his own heart. Byleth stared down at him impassively.

"Your Majesty," she whispered under the din, "approach the guests now, or else you'll look rude."

He didn't care about that. He wanted to meet her eyes, drink in the mint green and paint her face on his memory forevermore. She denied him the opportunity with a shifting of her body as she turned away to speak to Seteth. Dimitri sighed, "Of course, of course, Archbishop. Whatever you say."

A cold title. He supposed _his_ own was even colder now. King, and Archbishop. There was meant to be another coronation that day, one of a Queen. She proved to not be interested in the position. 

He stood and waved a hand to the crowd. The faces blurred as he smiled, and his stomach lurched once more. Byleth did not want to be his Queen. She stood behind him, ignoring his existence to the best of her ability. No amount of cheering from excited citizens could cull the oncoming wave of regret, despair, and light nausea.

His Majesty retired early that night. It was gossiped among Faerghus nobles that he drank too much, though in reality he could not stand to see Byleth's face any longer. Each glimpse of pale white skin and mint green hair struck him to his core. It was beginning to get harder, and harder, to live in the same castle as her each day.

Dimitri had spoken hardly a word to Byleth - besides a short 'excuse me' while passing in the hallway, or a 'are you going to eat that?' concerning a bread roll at dinner; and no, she was not going to eat it, Dimitri promptly stuffed it into his mouth - and found himself grateful for the entire army of separation between the two.

Claude’s plea arrived as the Kingdom army marched to Garreg Mach. Dimitri had no doubt in his mind, he would assist his old friend and fellow ruler, and it seemed to be one of the few subjects Byleth agreed with him about as of late. It nearly felt symbiotic, how quickly she agreed to reroute her army towards Alliance Territory.

Yet, she did not speak to him more than what was necessary. Dimitri felt as if he had the plague. 

A month passed, the army began marching to Derdriu, and the dark circles underneath Byleth's eyes were growing darker by the day. 

“ _Women_ , am I right?”

The voice came from his shoulder, breaking the King out of his reverie of thought. He nearly jumped mid-march and stumbled into Gilbert at his other side. Every eye in the vicinity landed on him as he put a hand to his chest and huffed, “Rodrigue, excuse my rudeness. I didn’t see you there.”

Rodrigue was acting as if he could not see him either. He stared straight ahead, matching Dimitri’s pace with measured steps. “It’s fine. We haven’t seen each other much lately.”

_Women_ , was he right? Dimitri narrowed his eyes and slowed in his walk. He would expect Sylvain to say such a thing, but Rodrigue? He could not recall the last time he’d heard a negative word from his pseudo-father/uncle’s mouth. Especially not about women, and especially not as vaguely insulting as such a statement. 

What did that even mean? 

“We haven’t,” Confused, Dimitri spoke slowly, processing his jumbled thoughts, “It’s been a busy month.”

Rodrigue kept his gaze straight ahead, “It’s very good of you to assist House Riegan. We don’t have much resources left to march with, though.”

Rodrigue hardly looked over such things. Seteth was the resource manager, though Dimitri knew that the two men had become close confidants over the last year. It was mostly out of necessity, if not middle aged man-ness drawing them together as friends. 

Dimitri attempted to ignore the ‘women, am I right?’ comment, and went on, “We’ll be all set after we win this battle.” As they always were. The Kingdom army had several close calls in the past, always making it out by the skin of their teeth. That was Byleth, as always, his master tactician who he thought he'd spend his life with. Even when distracted by him in the past, she could save her allies as easily as she walked. 

_Dimitri’s_ focus was everywhere, like feathers in the wind. He led his battalion at the front of the army as they approached the waterfront city of Derdriu. It shone blue and golden in the distance, though the smoke of fire and death reached to the heavens in dark plumes. His heart sank when he caught wind of the smell of coal in the air. 

And he could not possibly get Rodrigue’s odd statement off his mind. 

“Women?” It was nearly a hiss as he turned to the Lord, “I’m afraid I really don’t know what you mean.”

It sounded like campfire talk between drunk men, something he never thought he’d hear from Rodrigue. He watched as his uncle’s shoulders loosened in relief and a smile broke out onto his face. Finally, he turned his gaze onto him, the warmth pouring over Dimitri with the look in his eyes. “Sylvain told me to say it. He thinks I should comfort you, because he doesn’t want to do it again.”

Any semblance of a good mood dropped. If Sylvain thought yelling at him in the middle of a feast was ‘comfort’, then he had an odd concept of such things. “Of course.”

“Truthfully, I don’t understand what it means either. I suppose it’s supposed to…” he hummed in thought and rubbed his chin, “make a connection of some sort.”

“A connection?”

“Well,” he spread his hands apart, “you’re not alone in having marital problems, your Majesty. Women are…” clearing his throat, he looked down, “I think they’re perfectly fine, but Sylvain wanted me to use the word ‘persnickity’. I don’t agree, obviously, mainly because I’m not sure what that word is supposed to mean.”

Dimitri could not help the bitter smile on his face, “He only sent you because he knows I listen to you.”

“You listen to him as well,” Rodrigue crossed his arms in thought and watched the plumes of smoke in the distance, “you gave Her Grace a flower, did you not?”

“...How many people do you think heard that argument?”

“Everybody. I’m sorry.”

“Right.”

The first battalion entered the city, followed by the second wave of archers. Dimitri watched from his spot on the hill overlooking the battle. The soldiers looked like ants below, but every one of them had a life, a family, childhood friends, and uncles who loved them very much. Claude and his closest allies were within it’s harbors, waiting to be saved. 

Byleth was nowhere to be seen. She _was_ a bit persnickity, now that he thought about it, but very persuasive. She had become Archbishop without even being a member of the church. That had to be talent. 

“I miss her.”

“I know,” Rodrigue clapped his shoulder as he held the reins to his horse, “just keep an eye on her. Seteth says she’s been distracted lately.”

Distracted. He felt as if _he_ was the distracted one. “What do you mean?”

A shrug, “We believe she’s wearing herself a bit thin, and with reports of what the Emperor is planning Byleth hasn’t been sleeping much.” 

“I…” a dread settled into his stomach. He had not heard anything about plans from Edelgard, though Byleth had avoided speaking to him about even the weather, “I understand the feeling.”

“There’s something going on with her,” Rodrigue pulled himself into the saddle and sent him another encouraging smile, one that said more than he had time to say aloud. “Maybe you can help her out?” With a twinkle in his eyes, he took off down the hill with his battalion of mages in tow. 

He doubted that he truly could, but it was a saccharine thought. To help the woman who helped _him_ for so long, it was what she deserved. Dimitri sighed and shouldered Areadbhar as Byleth’s words from what felt like eons ago came to mind. 

_“And we’re married. We’ll have 10 babies one day, and we’ll live in a cottage on a mountain surrounded by flowers and honeysuckle, and you’ll be okay and I’ll be okay and we’ll teach our children how to be okay... Okay?”_

He could only laugh at the memory now. How he held onto those words, hating each and every syllable that played in his mind. He despised the promises she made because he knew he could not give her that future, and even now, he had nothing to give. And perhaps it was best that they stay apart. Sylvain’s ‘comfort’ from the other week began to slip away - to give her flowers and to love her just because he did, what was the point of it all? What was the point when he could not live in a cabin with her and their 10 children, being okay?

The battalion following him jumped to attention as he started down the hill towards the city. He brooded as he did in the past, though his face held far less anger. Melancholy thoughtfulness, and a sort of instinctual fear. He did not care about the Imperial soldiers with their weapons, but for who they could hurt. His eyes scanned the army ahead for mint green hair and a golden sword. 

How desperately he wanted to love her. How _desperately_ he wanted to let her be happy. It was a decision between selfishness, and selflessness. He felt that he’d always been selfish underneath the facade of compassion for others. Even now, as he found Byleth with her battalion, his heart skipped a beat in excitement. She stole his breath away in the same way she did five years prior, and he did not think that would ever change. 

Even when distracted, she could hold her own against her enemies. He took down another soldier in his way, stepped over bodies and drowned out the sound of battle as he approached. Byleth did not notice him nearby. She fought like she never had before. 

His eyes scanned the battle on the harbor, the boats waving in the disturbed water and dyed with streaks of red. Over the sound of clashing iron and steel, he neared Byleth and yelled, “Where is Claude?”

She did not miss a beat, she never would in battle. No matter how distracted she became, she knew where everyone on her battlefield were. It was one of her superpowers, he thought. “He’s on the other side there,” her sword dropped to her side and she pointed a finger to the other end of the street, in that ship.”

The rest of the inhabited ships had already sailed out, why was his merely sitting there? Claude was clever enough to hold the Imperial army back a few days before Dimitri’s arrival, but it was far too late to save the harbor and it’s attached city. He needed to leave, there was a target over his head. 

“I’m going to try to cut through to him,” Dimitri informed over the sound of chaos, “stay safe, please.”

She was surrounded by her battalion as they held off attackers. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, the light of the sun above catching her hair and shining. Dark circles rested under her eyes like a reminder of her recent state of being. 

Was she okay? Dimitri couldn’t tell, he could not even find an ounce of joy in her face. “I’ll go with you, he’s going to need more help.”

It was almost like old times. If only her shoulder were not so cold - though he scolded himself internally for whining like a child during literal war. As he fought through the army, it was a rare moment of pure instinct - rotection for his wife and the people around him. It was almost _natural_ how he and Byleth cut down the enemies surrounding Claude and Judith's boat.

If only the city did not blow up exactly two minutes later.

Dimitri’s world stopped spinning just for a moment. That was how quickly it happened - just a minute, if even that. The chaos, the death and destruction, were immediate. Vaguely, just barely, he caught a wide eyed stare from Byleth, and her lips moving as she watched the weapons in the air, “Oh Goddess, no not this.”

Before he could ask, the world nearly ended. 

It was the shadow of a group of pegasi flying over the water. It was a ship of civilians out at sea, a tiny dot in the distance. It was the highest pitched noise he’d ever heard. It was a fuse, and smoke, and fire traveling to the end of a bundle of crude, stolen inventions. 

It was Byleth, staring at the sky with wide eyes and whispering lips. It was pure dread. It was a feeling of panic, fear of the unknown. 

Then came the drop of the explosives, and the wind and the smoke and the fury. Hot, stifling air washed over his body. He did not hesitate to wrap his arms around Byleth’s waist and turn his back to the oncoming shock of debris and fire. 

The battle slowed around him. 

It was a sudden heat, as if he was standing in a pit of flames. The skin on his back screamed with the feeling of steam and smoke infiltrating every pore. With shaking knees, he fell to the ground and pulled Byleth closer into his chest. He vaguely registered the feeling of her fingers digging into his cloak, and her nose in his shoulder. She smelled of sweat and smoke and blood. 

And his allies grew quiet in their shock. Hot, and uneasy. Only for a golden moment between the chaos of torture and destruction. 

Screams erupted around him. Feet raced past his and Byleth’s body on the ground as they ran to the exploded boat on the harbor. In the distance, a ship full of civilians burned on top of the water. 

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder at the scene behind him. Bodies lay in the exploded rubble of fire and blackpowder. His fingers melted into the small of Byleth’s back as he realized that he was alive, _she_ was alive - and there were many who were not so lucky. He thought he glimpsed Claude pulled out of the water by a bloodied and blackened Judith. 

The Archbishop said nothing. With ringing ears, he looked down at the small form in his arms. His body was covered with leftover soot and smoke, but he was intact, besides the light burns on his back underneath the heavy cloak he wore. He was sure he smelled terrible, though Byleth kept her nose buried into his shoulder in an almost loving way. 

He had to force his lips to move, a whisper underneath the screams of fear and loss around him, “It’ll be okay, the pegasus riders are gone.”

She shook her head. 

His heart fell in his chest. He buried his face into her hair and closed his eyes, “It’ll be okay, By. I promise.”

“No,” her voice was strangled and crackling, as if she was choking on her words, “this is my fault. Seteth warned me, Dimitri.” She looked up at him now, her eyes red, “How many are hurt?”

She would not look. Dimitri glanced over his shoulder to watch the chaos unfold. Bodies were pulled from rubble, soldiers put out fires that spread across the buildings. The air smelled of human skin and metal. The cry of civilians caught on the boat out at sea. 

He could not answer Byleth in a way that would make her feel better. “This is… This is what happens in war. It’s terrible, and-”

“Rhea hid those inventions away for a reason!” Her fingers dug into his shoulders with a passion he’d rarely seen her have, “And I was the one who introduced them to the world! How could I not expect Edelgard to use them?”

“W-What inventions?” His eye burned from the harsh smoke filling the city, “The blackpowder?”

“Yes! The weapons, Dimitri. I used them and now _she’s_ using them. And I know it’s hypocritical,” Byleth pulled back from his arms and wrapped her hands around her knees, eyes surveying the ongoing strife over his shoulders, “but I would never have used them on a boat full of citizens. I can’t believe _she_ would even use them in this way.”

He did not wish to look again, to see the bodies of innocents strewn across the streets. Steadying his breath and staring at the ground, he gripped his fists against his knees, “Edelgard will do what she must to win this war.”

His wife’s face grew grim, “So will I. Goddammit, we are exactly the same, don’t you see?”

“No… I don’t see.”

Ash fell from the sky. The Imperial soldiers were driven back, and it became obvious what the bomb was. A warning, a reminder of Edelgard’s power and what she was willing to do. Byleth wrapped her arms around her knees and closed her eyes tightly, with ash and cinders falling into her hair and coloring it with streaks of dirty grey. “Then you are blind, your Majesty. I’m tired of this.”

She could be referring to anything at that moment. The killing of innocents, the screams in the air and the smell of skin burning. His chest clenched as she took another shaky sigh, and he found his hand reaching for her cheek, “Beloved, you once comforted me for my killing, you forgave me. This is much different, but… I wish to do the same.”

Lambert sat in the back of his mind, whispering. What right did he have to forgive the Archbishop for something she did not even carry out with her own hands? The look on her face caught him like a fly in a spider’s web, and he found himself floundering for escape. 

It was a glare. Her eyes were more burning than the fire of the harbor around him, “You should know that is not what I want right now.”

With another heavy rock of despair in his throat, he sighed and closed his eyes, “I apologize, Lady Eisner.” A frown etched itself onto his face, “I dislike taking lives, even for this cause, you know that.”

“No, Dimitri,” Byleth crossed her arms, her wall was built up around her again, keeping him out, “I really don’t know that. You used to _hate_ taking lives, five years ago.”

He felt his chest collapse, sinking into his stomach in immediate regret. The chaos around him quieted down as he retreated into his mind and body. He could not say anything correctly, he could not comfort her in the way she wanted, nor could he wash the blood from her hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

Byleth twisted her lips into a scowl that struck him like a dagger. “I want this war to end. I’m tired of it, your Majesty. I’m tired of what it’s done to the world.”

“Y-You are not alone in that sentiment-”

“No, Dimitri, you don’t understand. I will do _anything_ to end this.”

Anything. To release weapons of destruction that were hidden for a reason. To refuse this path thrust onto her by destiny itself. Dimitri knew that he was talented at reading her facial expressions, even in his feral state, and even now he could see the frustration, and the sorrow, in her face. 

That face had mirrored his own at one time. 

A whisper under the roar of sound, “What are you planning?”

Byleth opened her mouth, and closed it. She turned away, her profile illuminated by the glow of fires not yet extinguished. Her eyes closed and her fingers shook as she laid her hand on her chest. A shaky exhale, and a furrow of her brows. It was one facial expression he could not read. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” she squeezed her eyes shut, “I just want to live my life, not as the Archbishop, not as the one to decide for the world. I’m not that strong.”

Byleth was the strongest woman he knew. She survived their marriage, she survived falling off a cliff, she survived a curse that sent her into an oblivion of darkness. He attempted to ignore the tingle of anticipated worry in his chest. “You are, though, Byleth. We can get through this together.”

Her response was immediate, like a slap to the face, “You’ve always thought I was an emotionless ghost-”

“-you know that is not true!”

“You’ve treated me as such,” she whipped her head up to face him, “as if I can handle anything and everything that you are. It is not my obligation to bandage your wounds!”

“I-I never asked you to!”

“What would you have done if I hadn't found you? What would your life be like if I was not your professor? You call me your guiding light, Dimitri, but I am not! I don’t want to be, nor am I fit for such a thing!”

His heart clenched in his chest. He felt breathless, as if he’d been punched in the throat. Pulling back, he crossed his arms, “So… what do you want to be?”

It was the question of the century, and it was taking place in the worst possible moment in the world. Wood burned around them in a barely contained inferno, families mourned the dead from the explosion, and the Blaiddyds had a discussion about their _marriage_. What did Byleth want to be now? Before, she was clamoring to be his wife, his support, yet she scoffed at the position now. She stared with disdain, brows furrowed. “I want to end this war, as much as it hurts. And I know that makes me the same as Edelgard. Who’s right is it, anyway, to decide what is best for the world and it’s people?”

He had absolutely no idea. Yet, if he and Edelgard and Byleth did not do it, then who would? The pressure of civilization rested on her shoulders, and he was beginning to see the wear it had on her. She had a broken heart, not quite mended. It was a long time coming, a hairline crack that spread over the surface until, finally, it could not handle the weight any longer. Byleth had had enough. He should’ve known that. 

“I’m sorry.”

She looked up, and she grimaced. “I released the inventions because I want it to be out of my hands. I’m selfish, and…” she shook her head as if shaking the very thought out, “I’ve got to go. I can’t just…” her eyes wandered to a scene over his shoulder, “I can’t let these people suffer any longer because of the consequences of my decisions.”

“...I care about you.”

All he received was a glare. She pulled herself up from the ground, stepped past him, and left. She took a piece of him with her as she did. 

He knew that look on her face. Byleth Blaiddyd was planning something. 

  
  


* * *

**Later That Day**

**2:00 a.m.**

Dedue was far better at stealth than he liked to admit. Yet, he found himself becoming rather tired of following various Blaiddyds around at night. 

Would it be the same if Byleth and Dimitri had children? Would Dedue follow a young prince as he snuck out of his room in teenage rebellion? Was he destined to be a shadow to the royal family for the rest of his existence? He certainly hoped not, as their retainer he planned to teach them the importance of _honor_ in battle. They would fight with their weapons drawn, and they would make Duscur proud. Stealth was not a trait found in true warriors of the North. 

Yet, here was his Queen, the Archbishop, sticking to the shadows like a ghost. 

Unlike the last time he stalked a Blaiddyd retreating in the night, he was prepared. 

“His Majesty told me you would try this.”

Byleth did not jump, or attack, or even look shocked. She merely stiffened in place, and slowly turned on her heel to face the man of Duscur watching her from the tree-line of the camp. She was cloaked in shadow, a black jacket, and something that smelled slightly of bear meat. 

The fact of the matter was that Byleth Blaiddyd was attempting to leave her camp in the middle of the night with no word or breath to anyone else. Dimitri had warned him of such a thing, it was yet another example of his impeccable instinct for Byleth’s eccentricities. 

“Dedue,” she whispered, though it resembled more of a hiss, “I need to do this. Please, _please_ , don’t try to stop me.”

In the past, that would be that. Dedue would see Byleth sneak off for whatever she wished, and he would let it be. Her Grace preferred her privacy and sanctuary, and _she_ was not the one to pull him from the fires of genocide. 

But it was different now. She was married to His Majesty, and he had asked him to keep an eye on her. Dedue did not disobey Dimitri’s direct orders - more like requests, though he preferred the terminology ‘orders’ more. “You know I can’t allow you to leave like this.”

“Why?” She scoffed in her blanket of shadows from the trees overhead, “Because you’re my friend? Because you care? Don’t you know how asinine that is?”

“Because His Majesty told me to keep an eye on you.”

Byleth deflated almost immediately, like a popped balloon. She turned her shoulder to him and stepped away, leaves crunching under her feet. Byleth could blend in with the shadows when she desired to, a form of battle that was not at all tasteful to traditional Northern beliefs. Dedue was glad that she did not sneak around on a regular basis - she would be much more difficult to track than Dimitri. 

“And what does His Majesty care?”

Dedue shifted uncomfortably. The reminder of their marital status sat uneasily in his stomach. “You do not need me to tell you the answer to that.”

She did not, and she did not desire it either. Byleth gripped a branch and ducked under it, her voice quiet as she walked through the forest path. The camp in the distance shined a golden orange through the night. Dedue followed across the piles of fallen leaves and soft ground, while Byleth led the way. “I have killed many people today. He should despise me.”

Dimitri most likely had killed more, though he said nothing. Silent, he followed. 

“It was my decision that led to Edelgard having this power.”

Silence in return. Dedue followed, watching the back of Byleth’s head shine in the slivers of moonlight above. 

“It was just a warning at Derdriu, I know that. She was warning us of what she was capable of, and do you know _why_ she is capable of such things?”

He did, though he stayed silent. How to answer a woman so deep in her soliloquy of misery? The tone of her voice vaguely resembled Dimitri’s at his worst, carving a pit of anxiety into his chest that he wished he would never have to feel again. 

“It is because I am selfish. I was angry, Dedue, I was so damn angry at Dimitri for sneaking off and leaving me like he did, so I took measures to end that battle as quickly as it began. And now… she’s got the same idea as me.”

Dedue was not a man of deep feeling, at least not outwardly. He would not be like Mercedes, soft and compassionate and willing to listen to other’s worries. He did not hardly know what to do with Byleth in her state of shaking shoulders and nervous breathing. All he could bare to say to her back was a simple, “What will you do?”

“What will I do?”

“Yes.”

The question sat on the Archbishop’s shoulders like an iron weight. She nearly collapsed from the pressure of it all. 

“I’m going to kill Edelgard myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble. I thought I had writer's block for a while, but I think it was just this chapter in general that was holding me up. You would not believe the amount of revisions I did, I have an entire google document of alternate ways this chapter would have gone, and I'm still not as happy with it as I could be. I honestly might edit it for the millionth time in the future!
> 
> So, the next chapter will be much easier to write. It's less focused on battle and the time passing, it'll be funnier and more of a relief from the angst. I don't want to keep the sadness train going for too long because that's not what this fic is supposed to be, and frankly I'm bored of it. I just wanted to use this chapter to set up what's going to happen with Byleth and Dimitri. Have hope, my loves! This will have a very happy ending <3
> 
> Anyway, if you liked it then comment! If you didn't like it then join the club with me lol


	17. The Eternal Suffering of Dedue Molinaro

_Hold it together_

_God, I wish I knew better than to be alone like this_

_\- 'Hold It Together' The Marias_

* * *

Byleth Eisner-Blaiddyd had enough sense of mind to pack everything she needed for her spontaneous journey to Enbarr. Everything besides water. 

“I thought, you know, this stuff was clear _like_ water, and I didn’t smell it beforehand, so I didn’t realize it was rice wine. But at least we have _something_ to drink.”

Something that tasted like vinegar and provided no actual thirst quenching qualities whatsoever. There was no possible way Dedue could meet her optimism halfway. 

Another swig of rice wine, another giggle. She had this innate urge to fill every beat of silence with a constant stream of unfiltered thoughts and feelings. “You know what, Dedue? You’re my best friend, you always have been. I’ll tell you where I’m going to live after this war is over, but you have to promise to not tell Dimitri.”

He could promise nothing, and Byleth Blaiddyd _must_ know that. As loyal as he is to the Archbishop/Princess Consort/Future Queen, her husband is the one holding the majority of his fealty. If Dimitri asked Dedue where his wife was, he would have his answer at the ready, without even a shred of hesitance. Byleth, usually, would remember such facts - if she was not downing wine like water. 

Not awaiting a confirmation of interest from her companion, she stretched out her hand and flexed her fingers ahead of her, “I’m going to the mountains where my father was born. I’ll build a cabin. It’ll be so small that even if Dimitri _wanted_ to live with me, he wouldn't be able to! The ceilings will be far too low, and he is far too tall.”

Dimitri would willingly endure a hunched-over existence if it meant being with Byleth. Anyone with eyes and a brain could see the way he looked at her, sending those longing stares across the camp that made everyone in the vicinity uncomfortable. Dedue learned how to ignore the Blaiddyds long ago. He had watched the two date secretly at the Officer’s Academy - the longing looks were far worse then. 

Despite a history of tortuous P.D.A and third-wheeling, he felt as if _nothing_ could compare to this journey. Dedue kept at her heels as she walked through the thickest part of the forest, wine in one hand, and the ancient sword of the creator in the other. If Rhea caught her slicing through branches with the relic as if it was a simple machete, she’d have a heart attack. Dedue watched as Byleth tilted the wine back again and nearly stumbled over the root of a tree. 

At one point, he decided that he could not convince her to return to the army, so he attempted to drag her. It was, as expected, unsuccessful - he’d have bruises on his ribs for days. 

Subsequently, plan C began. Follow the Archbishop through the forest, to Enbarr. And make sure she stays alive. 

The life of Dedue Molinaro was not an easy one. 

His Majesty would awaken the next day in his empty tent, and notice the lack of his retainer guarding the entrance. He would question the lack of retainer, but not think much of it. And after that would be the start of the rumors, a hint on the wind that the Archbishop was not in _her_ tent either. Seteth would control damage, but not deny anything. After an hour of mild panic, the Archbishop would be announced as officially missing. Dedue did not desire to dwell on how Dimitri would react to the news.

Complete, and utter chaos lie ahead. He held no envy for his peers at the camp. 

“Are you listening?”

He was attempting to, but her rambles about the specific measurements of her mountain cabin were beginning to grow droll. He snapped back to attention, keeping at her heels as she cut her way through another patch of thorny branches, “I apologize, as you were saying?”

Byleth nodded in satisfaction, “Well, I’ll provide for myself, you see. I’ll grow a garden, and I’ll hunt for food. I’ll even have a lovely boat, I’ve always wanted a boat, you know. I’ll name it the ‘Aboat Time’.”

She truly was meant for Dimitri. 

“Your Grace,” he sighed, “Have you considered living in Fhirdiad with His Majesty?”

“I’ve considered that from the first moment he told me he loves me. But I’m tired of thinking of that future.”

She seemed to be in a better mood than earlier, at least. She would hardly speak a word to her follower before. Rice wine had some use, he thought. Byleth did not look as if she had the world sitting on her shoulders as heavily as before. 

He cleared his throat, a loud sound in the quiet of the morning forest. The moon was growing paler by the minute with the threat of the morning sun, and they were already far enough from the Kingdom Army’s camp to not be found. Byleth had the experience to trek through the woods as quickly as possible, it was a relic of the beginnings of her marriage to Dimitri. All she lacked was a dirty cloak and a mouth full of insults. 

There were plains and mountains and one very large river between her and Edelgard, but she knew she could make it. She had the determination, the strength, and the wine. Slowing in her pace, she nearly came to a stop and looked at Dedue over her shoulder, “You can still go back now. The mountain range is ahead, it’ll be difficult to find our allies after I pass over that.”

That was what worried him. Byleth intended on disappearing completely, and if she had it her way, she would be gone forever. She had been clouded since her awakening in Fhirdiad, and it seemed to come to fruition in this dirty, muddy woman trampling through the forest towards the Empire. “My duty is to keep you alive, your Grace.”

Short and sweet. Succinct, as always. Dedue had a way with words that tended to keep Byleth grounded. He did not ramble, nor did he hover, he simply did what he must and went on about his business. She appreciated that. He was the perfect traveling partner for this journey. 

“For the last time,” she offered a weak smile, “I’ll be okay. It’s really, very, simple. I’ll just scale the wall to the castle, steal a guard’s clothes, and go to Edelgard’s room.”

He felt like he’d heard this plan before in a children’s book. “What if you’re met with resistance?” 

“I’ll stab them. Then, I’ll stab Edelgard.”

“And if she begs for mercy?”

“Has she given mercy to others?”

If there was one thing Dedue knew of his Majesty’s step sister, it was that she was not what she seemed. She was cold and reserved, refined and organized, the thick layers of her skin covering up the fear underneath. Dedue watched, and listened, and learned, and he knew that the Emperor was far more than a stone-hearted dictator. Byleth used to understand that. She used to live by such gospel, spouting her dreams of reformation and mercy for the Emperor if she were to repent. She had given such mercy to Dimitri, it was natural to extend the same to Edelgard. 

Now, her ideals resembled Dimitri’s at his lowest. Her response sunk into Dedue’s skin and poisoned his veins. She was different than before. 

“Archbishop…” he cleared his throat and attempted to find the safest words, “have you felt okay since you awoke?”

It had been a month following her slumber. She had worn an odd look on her face since, inexplicably caught up in her own thoughts and concerns. Byleth slowed in her pace and turned to face him, “Not really, why?”

“How… are you feeling then?” He was no healer, not like Mercedes. But he knew of friendship and emotion, of support and being there for someone. It was in his own way, but it was an offer nonetheless. 

Byleth pressed her lips together and glanced away. In one hand, she held the sword, and in the other she held a clear bottle of rice wine - he was beginning to think she did not mistake it for water in the first place. “Well, I had a talk with a Goddess, as one does.”

Skeptical, he raised a brow, “And?”

“She tried to tell me that I have the chance to be a leader for this world,” Byleth deflated like an empty sack, “And then I see that Dimitri’s changed. You have to understand… I fell asleep just a minute after throwing my ring at him and telling him to go screw himself.”

Those were not her exact words. Dedue held his tongue on correcting her. 

“It was a month for everybody else, but for me it was only seconds. I was still so angry, so hurt and… well, he made his decision that day on Gronder. To see him acting as if nothing had ever happened just… It does not feel good, Dedue.” She sighed and turned, the bottle hitting against her hip as she began walking down the trail, “Then, Edelgard imitated the inventions I found, and she killed innocent people with it. I didn’t think that… that she would ever do such a thing. Obviously, I’ve been _playing_ this entire time. I need to take her seriously.”

That left the final loose end, preparing itself to be tied. Dedue followed her from a distance, “And what will you do after you kill the Emperor?”

She scoffed and tipped the wine bottle back once more. It sloshed as she walked through the uneven terrain, with the mountains rising in the distant horizon. They had moved so far, so quickly, and Byleth planned to continue moving through the rest of the day. 

“Were you not listening earlier?” There was amusement in her voice, “I’ll build a very small cabin, I’ll hide in the mountains, and I’ll get a boat.”

‘Aboat Time’ - he recalled. “Are you going to annul your marriage?”

“If…” she slowed, “if he wants to.”

He wouldn’t. Dedue knew him well enough.

Byleth Eisner-Blaiddyd, when determined, was not a force to be reckoned with. She continued her trample through the woods in heavy silence, heading to the mountain range in the distance. Silence fell between the travelers as the birds tittered in the trees above. 

Dedue left a footprint in the mud. A mile behind him, he ripped the edge of his handkerchief and left it in the bark of a tree. His hand ax was lodged into a stump, he knew Dimitri would recognize it. A trail of breadcrumbs for his Majesty to follow. There was not much he could do, but he hoped it was enough.

* * *

When Dimitri was 11 years of age, his uncle visited Fhirdiad. It was a disaster. 

He had just been left by the ‘woman of his dreams’ as he called her. When asked who this woman was, he went into great detail about the size of her chest, and nothing else. Rufus, then, proceeded to spend the entire visit with his family drinking whiskey from Lambert’s cellars, sleeping, and staring at the water. Apparently, these things were very therapeutic, as Rufus informed with the wisdom of a man lived through a broken heart. 

Dimitri found the therapeutical properties of alcohol, sleep, and melancholy staring quite dumb. He promptly decided that his uncle was a loser, and that his words should never be taken seriously. If Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd ever happened to be broken-hearted from the disappearance of the love of his life, he would _not_ drink whiskey, sleep all day, or stare longingly out at large bodies of water. 

6:00 a.m. - Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd sat beside a pond, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, and rubbed his face to clear his eye of the heavy sleep he just awoke from. 

He was an absolute loser. 

Such a loser, in fact, that his own army kept important secrets from him. 

There were rare times in his life that he wished he could have the anger and conviction of his feral personality. He desired the lack of social skills required for marching up to Seteth, grabbing his collar, and tearing him apart for keeping secrets. To imagine acting in such a way rotted in his stomach, disgust growing at how he used to be. Yet, as unpleasant as he was in the past, the old Dimitri got things done, he took names and controlled the battlefield. He was dominant, and demanding and nobody dared to look at him with such pity as they did now. 

It was not as if Dimitri was _angry_. It was not as if he was resentful of the pitying looks he received from everybody. He was simply confused, and nobody dared to explain themselves. 

He took another bitter sip of his chamomile and stared out at the water. He had not shaved for a day, and was beginning to resemble the dark eyed look Rufus wore after his many break ups. He rubbed his good eye once more and sighed at his stretched reflection in the ripples of the pond. 

It actually was therapeutic, in some way. 

The army had marched away from Derdriu and taken refuge in a plain between the Alliance and Garreg Mach territory. Claude was alive, but badly burned, and promised to send him a letter once he recovered. The sound of the screams of the people of Derdriu reverberated in his ears, in his dreams, in the back of his mind - he had slept hard, but it was riddled with nightmares of the latest battle. 

The camp was gathering itself together to leave. Dimitri packed his tent and supplies up, and waited by the water for the rest of the army to begin moving. The few people that awoke this early sent him the most pitying, disappointed looks. 

It was utterly confusing. 

“Should we tell him?”

“Goddess, no. Never in a million years.”

It was not as if he’d rip their heads off. The whispers reached his ears as he sat on the ground, taking another resentful sip of his tea. He’d attempted to look nice today, with his hair pulled to the nape of his neck and a freshly cleaned shirt, but the unshaven cheeks and the glare he wore caused the soldiers to still flinch. Yet, apparently they were not _too_ intimidated, not enough to keep them from whispering close enough for him to eavesdrop. 

“You tell him, he deserves to know!”

“I’m not doin’ that!”

What in Fodlan was so important that he felt every passing eye on his back? And how could it have possibly escaped his hearing? Perhaps Byleth was pulling strings in the background once more, hiding important news from his knowledge and teasing him from the shadows. That woman, she was sly, far too clever for her own good. And she was beginning to take out her hurt and anger on him - he knew he deserved it, but it frustrated his temper no less. 

“Tell him, he needs to know.”

Enough was enough. Dimitri swiveled around to face the timid soldiers watching nearby, “Are you aware I can hea-”

They ran away before he could finish. A tremble of guilt passed through his chest. He truly thought he had gotten better, less snappy and less intimidating. He certainly _smelled_ better. Sighing, he faced the water once more and took another sip, hoping the tea would calm his mood. 

It was an odd morning. The camp was still waking up against the brightness of the early sun, just barely moving and packing. Annette had sent him a furrow-browed stare, while Flayn covered her mouth and gasped as he passed earlier. He knew he did not have anything on his face other than stubble of hair and dark circles. Huffing, he leaned in closer to the water to check his reflection. 

He was fine, it was simply his normal face. His appearance did not explain the tight-lipped glance Mercedes had cast him, or the wide, pitying eyes Ingrid sent his way. 

Another chorus of whispers exploded behind him. Frowning, Dimitri looked over his shoulder and stiffened at the sight. A group of soldiers tittered and shuffled, at least five of them, headed by the person Dimitri least expected. 

“Ashe, I didn’t think you were much for gossip,” he offered a bitter smile and turned around, standing from his spot on the ground and dusting the mud from his trousers, “What’s wrong?”

He’d never seen Ashe look so terrified. He’d seen him look fearful, sad, worried, but never as if he was speaking directly to a ghost. He twiddled his fingers and opened his mouth, shuffled in place, was nudged by another soldier, and frowned. Dimitri watched the dance of uncertainty with growing suspicion. 

Had his wife sent this poor man to speak with him? Was Byleth using Ashe to spread her silly tricks - whatever they were? 

“Well,” the archer cleared his throat and looked up, his face pale and eyes wide, “Your Majesty-”

“Dimitri, please.”

“D-Dimitri,” he exhaled deeply and put a hand to his forehead, “Listen, there’s been this thing going around, and I just wanted to check if you were okay?”

He made it sound like a virus was in the camp, giving everyone a cold. He felt healthy enough, and had not noticed anybody else suffering from such an ailment. “I’m fine for now, why?”

Green eyes widened. His lips flattened together. The soldiers behind him began their chorus of unintelligible whispers. “So you do know? I thought you didn't...”

He attempted to stay friendly despite his headache and exhaustion of this conspiracy, “I actually don’t, my friend. But I’ve been wondering why everyone's acting odd."

“Oh,” he deflated, “well, that’s what _they_ said, these guys. Apparently, everybody _else_ knows.”

“So… what is it, then?”

“I really, really hate this,” he earned another elbow to the ribs and the hiss of a whisper. Frowning, Ashe sighed and ran his hands through his hair, every inch of himself showing hesitancy to force the words out, “But I guess _someone_ needs to tell you. I’m really sorry, your Majesty.”

Concern began to form in his stomach. He felt as if someone had died, and he was the last to know. “What is it?”

“Well…”

A pregnant pause. Ashe put his hand to his chest and grimaced, taking a deep inhale to prepare himself. 

“The Archbishop and Dedue have eloped and ran away together.”

Pause. The world around him stopped moving. Ashe's words drizzled down through his ears and into his stomach, sitting uncomfortably as if he'd just eaten something rotten.

The Archbishop, his wife. And Dedue, his best friend. Have eloped. And run away together.

“...E-Excuse me?”

“Byleth and Dedue are gone!” Ashe erupted, clenching his fists and gasping in sudden panic, “Seteth found her tent empty and cleaned out this morning! And Dedue has not been seen either! Ingrid found both of their footprints leading into the forest, a-and Felix says that he saw them speaking earlier in the morning!”

A cleaned out tent, and the disappearance of his best friend. He had not seen Dedue by his tent entrance that morning, but thought nothing of it. Nausea settled into his stomach as he stared open mouthed at the archer and the panicked soldiers, “H-How do you know they’ve eloped?”

“He’s… he’s been seen with a ring, lately,” Ashe nearly whispered. 

“I thought that ring was for Mercedes! Oh, Goddess.” It made sense. It made nauseating, _disgusting_ sense. Byleth and Dedue, two pieces of a puzzle that fit so perfectly together. He was closer to her age, he was quiet, _he_ liked flowers and _she_ liked flowers. They both cooked and enjoy each other’s foods - Dedue could actually _taste_ her food. Oftentimes, when Dimitri would stay up late training at the Academy, she and Dedue would sit together and talk for hours on end. They'd spent nearly as much time together as Dimitri and Byleth had. 

How long had this been happening, and right under his nose? He was blind in more than just one eye, he was blind in the heart. He was blind to his wife's wants and needs, and the emotions of his best friend. He was blind to the romance, the attachment, forming between the two most important people in his life. 

Dimitri did not know what to do except to step forward, and wrap Ashe into his arms. He squeezed him, burying his nose into his hair and shutting his eye closed. Ashe patted his back and whispered, “I’m so sorry, your Majesty. This is horrible.”

It was officially the worst day of his life. “I knew she was angry with me… but to do this, to leave...”

"It'll be okay," he whispered, "you're strong enough to get through this."

"I-I don't know if I am. She's the love of my life, the only person I ever want to be with. I can't live without her, I-"

“Excuse me, but are you two stupid?” 

Dimitri froze. Ashe stiffened in his arms. 

Pulling away, he looked at Mercedes with wide eyes and a clenching heart. His cheeks felt hot, and his throat closed up with sheer, unadulterated humiliation. The priestess simply stared, unamused. He did not see Mercedes look annoyed _ever_. It was the slightest bit terrifying. 

Wordless, she held up her left hand. A white diamond on a simple silver band caught the morning light. “They did _not_ elope.”

Perhaps he truly was stupid. 

Dimitri tended to be the type to nervously laugh. He’d always given a little chuckle when under pressure, despite the rudeness of it. His step-mother was the same way, she was giggling all the way to Duscur on that fateful day nine years ago. And while Dimitri was not nervous now, he could not help the eruption of mildly terrified laughter that escaped his mouth. 

It was cathartic in some sick way. 

“I-I,” he huffed hot air, putting a hand over his eyes and grinning, “I was planning my future just now. I was thinking I would release Dedue from my service and allow them to marry, even pay for a proper wedding. I would visit on the holidays and pay for their children's schooling. Oh, Goddess, Mercedes,” another laugh bubbling up from his throat, the amusement did not stop the glares and whispers from onlookers, “You don’t know how it feels to hear otherwise.”

She blinked. Her brows furrowed. Ashe shifted uncomfortably while his group of soldiers gossiped about the mental state of the King. Dimitri straightened up and froze as he registered the look on her face, “I-I’m sorry, you have my congratulations. Marriage is a wonderful thing and I’m sure you and Dedue will be very happy. I’ll… I’ll gladly pay for your wedd-”

“Stop,” Mercedes dissolved into an amused smile, coupled with a giggle, “really, you can congratulate me later. I know where your mind is right now.”

Millions of miles away, mulling over the possibilities of Byleth’s sudden disappearance. Grateful, he sighed and smiled, “You’re the best, Mercie. I’m…” a glance at the soldiers and Ashe, “Excuse me, I must go see the evidence for myself.”

He spoke so calmly, though his body betrayed his true feelings. He took off into a run through the camp. Curious eyes watched him sprint past the tents and caravans with no care for decorum. Byleth’s tent was always in the back of the camp, circled by Seteth and Gustave’s. He caught sight of the men speaking in hushed tones near the empty shell where Byleth slept. 

His sprint slowed as he approached. Seteth sent him yet another pitying look that he could not help but ignore. Ducking into the entrance, he moved the loose flap aside and felt his heart drop into his stomach, to his feet, and roll onto the floor. 

Byleth’s tent was empty. The only remainder of her was a dirty napkin, and used matches laying endlessly on the ground. 

“What is _this_?”

Seteth was not impressed by the wide eyes and wild look. Dimitri was an obvious mess, gesturing to the empty tent as if it was a dead body. He inhaled heavily as if he could not hardly breathe - and he most likely could not, Seteth could imagine what it would be like to lose one’s wife in the night. Yet, he had no comforting answer possible. 

“I don’t know,” he and Gustave shook their heads and shared a look, “I found it like this earlier, before sunrise.”

“A-And,” Dimitri could not stop the stutter, the wave of panic that flooded every inch of his body, “the footprints? And what did Felix see?”

Gustave turned to him with a sigh, “We’ve already collected all of the clues possible, your Majesty. She was seen speaking to Dedue, and there are footprints in the mud at the edge of the forest. That is it.”

Footprints in the mud and a glimpse of a conversation, that was all she could offer him. Another piece of his world had been ripped away, and she had nothing to say about it. 

He needed to see her. 

“I can’t wait for everybody to get themselves together,” he nearly growled the words, “I’ll go look for her and Dedue alone.”

“I don’t advise that,” Gustave glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Rodrigue’s tent, “nobody would. Can you not wait-”

“I cannot.”

“Your Majesty,” he grimaced, “it’s unlikely that she’s hurt.”

Panicked, feeling as if he was on fire, Dimitri shook his head wildly. He ran a hand through his hair and ripped the rubber band holding it out, tossing it onto the ground. His fingers and his knees shook with the unknown, the unknown of where his wife was, where he was supposed to even _be_ in her life, and what would happen next. 

Was this the look in her eyes he saw? Was this the plan he sensed unfolding? 

“I have to go,” a shaky assurance, given through a tightly closed throat, “Please, I need to go after her. I’ll try to be back soon.”

“It could be a trap. The enemy could have made it look as if she and your retainer left of their own free will.” Seteth quipped. 

He nearly blew up, “Then that is all the more reason to give chase!”

“It’s really not. You do understand the meaning of a trap, don’t you?”

“I do,” a growl, he was growing antsier with every passing second, “but I would step into a thousand traps if it meant Byleth’s safety.”

A scoff, “That’s irresponsible.”

Enough. He could only take so much of Seteth and Gustave's _logic_. Turning on his heel, he aimed to head back to his own tent, “I’ll be back, Rodrigue is in charge while I’m gone.”

“Dimitri,” Gustave yelled, “do not do this. This world cannot afford your death, especially if it is a needless one."

It didn’t matter the manner of his death, he had expected such an ending for years now. Sighing, he turned around, walking backwards as he watched the advisors glare. "I’ll meet you at Garreg Mach… hopefully this will not be too complicated.”

It _would_ be complicated, as most occurrences in his life were. 

* * *

There was no square one, or square zero, any longer. He was at square -1. 

Dimitri was not entirely sure what to do, where to start, or where to go. Byleth could be difficult to track. If she had the determination to stay hidden, she could nearly turn invisible - he should know, the Golden Deer and Blue Lions held a game of hide and seek five years ago. Professor Byleth stayed hidden for two entire days until the weekend was over. (She was in a cabinet, she lived on crackers like a mouse.)

Fortunately for him, Dedue was much worse at hiding. In fact, he practically _begged_ to be found.

After miles of walking, he found Dedue’s hand ax lodged into a stump. The initials DM were carved into the wooden handle, it was a gift from Dimitri for his 15th birthday, and he always wore it on his hip. For Dedue to drop such a thing, Dimitri knew he was trusting in him to return it. Another mile passed. Dimitri kept his eyes on the trail for any sign of footprints. 

He began to realize that Dedue was being generous with his hints. It was the indent of his foot in mud, the scrap of a handkerchief on a limb, a line of broken branches that showed when and where Byleth changed directions. She may be discreet, but her traveling companion made a point _not_ to be. 

  
  


As the day went on, his mind dwelled on Byleth, and what she possibly could be thinking. He felt as if he was in her shoes, then, tracking down his spouse through the woods as she ran away for some secretive mission only known to her. The only other time he had seen Byleth act in such a way was when Jeralt had died. He knew that she had the capacity for vengeance and disappearing on a whim. Yet, he simply did not predict that she would leave _him_ behind in the process. She could not have possibly gone far, not without a horse. And especially not with the mountain range near Ordelia, and the river between the Alliance and the Adrestian Empire blocking her progress.

  
  


The sun moved lower into the sky as the morning slipped away. Dimitri’s legs ached and begged for rest as the evening began to settle in. He had not eaten or drank at all, besides the chamomile tea from early in the morning. If his body were not already used to extreme deprivation, he would have collapsed. His crest kept him upright, and his determination moved him through the trees. 

  
  


Panicked thoughts consumed Dimitri. His mind could not rest, and his eyes could not stray from the path ahead. He scoured the trees and the ground for any sign of Dedue’s bread crumb trail, though he knew he could only leave so many hints. He wondered what Byleth could possibly be thinking - though he had an idea of it. There was simply no way she could be out of Riegan territory by the evening. She and Dedue must rest eventually. As did he. 

  
  


The evening drug on. The sunset made it’s exit, replaced by the pale of the moon. Dimitri sat on the ground underneath the thick trunk of a tree, and finally rested his weary eyes. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The same moon that shone down upon Dimitri was also shining on Byleth. It was a romantic thought, she knew, to look at the same moon as him, to be under the same sheet of stars. It was not even a year ago when they would travel together, sleep on the forest floor together, _bathe_ together. The memory stung at her mind - proving that Byleth had not drunk _nearly_ enough wine yet. 

She watched the bottle crash against the rock’s edge and shatter into the tiniest pieces possible. Clear liquid like water dripped down the side of the boulder and darkened the surface of the ground around it. Byleth stared at the remnants of her solace, feeling as if her heart was broken, as shattered as the glass itself. 

“I was still drinking that.”

Dedue gave her the flattest look he could muster. He never drank, but he did not understand how this woman had made her rice wine last all throughout the day. She needed water, not alcohol. “It’s for your own good, I’m sorry.”

“You threw,” she gestured to the wet spot on the rocks below, “my super expensive wine off a cliff! You could’ve just said something!”

He _had_ been saying things, she was not listening. Periodically, he would spout a reminder of the effects of alcohol on a dehydrated mind and body, and was ignored each and every time. Crossing his arms, he glared at her profile in the light of the moon, “It was not expensive, it was a gift from Claude.”

“It was expensive for _him_!”

“Oh?” Dedue raised a brow, “He told his Majesty that he only paid three gold for it.”

Byleth wouldn’t have doubted the lack of expense from Claude, she would even go so far as to say he pulled it out of the trash somewhere and thought it would be a nice gift. But that was not what mattered. “It’s the thought that’s expensive.”

He thought the _thought_ counted, but would not argue the point any further. “The ground is soft, there’s moss on the trees, so that means there’s water nearby. All we need is to find it.”

“You know, I don’t really feel very supported by you.”

“There’s a bonfire in the distance, possibly a village. That would be even better.”

“I just want a friend to pet my hair while I have my emotional breakthrough.”

_Emotional_ _breakthrough_. He looked back at her, standing on the edge of the small cliff and staring down at the broken wine bottle. The dim lights of night illuminated her hair, making the dark circles under her eyes and her pale cheeks exaggerate. If this was what an emotional breakthrough looked like, then he hoped he’d never have one. “Your Grace, it’s getting late and we need food.”

Byleth cast him a hurt glance, “You think I’m harder to take care of than Dimitri, don’t you?”

Yes, though her form of coping with problems was far different than his Majesty’s. Dedue supposed that's why they worked so well together. Byleth drank and lost her filter for politeness, and Dimitri tortured himself and killed people. It worked, in some twisted way. 

He sighed, “Let’s go.”

“W-Will you carry me?”

“No.”

Defeat. Byleth cast another longing glance to her destroyed wine, before trudging after Dedue through the forest. In the distance, the golden glow of a large fire shined through the trees. They had to be towards the bottom of Riegan territory, heading towards Ordelia. The terrain was changing from flat plains and mossy swamps, into rocky hills and hiking trails. 

As Byleth followed, she wondered what Dimitri was doing then. Was he looking for her, and did he even care? She could not imagine that he would, especially not after the decisions she’s made, and how she’s treated him. Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she sighed, closing her eyes against the world as if she could possibly shut out every concern and responsibility she’d ever had. 

Voices reached her ears, men and women discussing inaudible plans in low tones. The smell of smoked meat wafted through the air. She had not realized just how hungry she was - determination was a good distraction. Her stomach growled as she found herself eager to visit this village. 

Approaching through the trees, a flash of red fabric caught her eye. There was a chorus of laughter and the sound of whetstones against swords. Her muscles tensed, as Dedue froze mid-step. They had both sensed the oncoming danger at once. 

The wave of a red banner. A traditional song from the Adrestian Empire sung around a campfire. Her heart sank to the ground. 

“We must go around,” Dedue whispered, sliding behind a thick tree trunk to hide, “if we head East, we will eventually bypass the camp.”

It was not a very large gathering of the army, and would not take much to sneak by. Byleth peaked out from her hiding place and noticed a stable of pegasi with ash colored wings. It looked like coal, and discoloration from smoke. She frowned as the image of a ship exploding on top of the water came to mind. “These are the the ones that got away from Derdriu. There’s not that many.”

“There’s enough,” he grunted, “let’s go.”

Smoked meat wafting through the air. A thought began to form in Byleth’s mind. 

And a _realization_. Her feet could only take her so far. She could only climb _so_ high, infiltrate the castle _so_ much. 

“No,” she stopped Dedue with a snap, “if I act as if I’ve surrendered and want to join Edelgard, they’ll take me to Enbarr much faster than I’d get there on my own.”

He looked at her as if she’d told him she ate raw meat for fun. “No, no that’s-”

“Dedue, this will work. So, you need to go,” another harsh whisper, “Your disappearance isn’t fair to Dimitri or Mercedes, go back to them.”

His look of surprise changed to anger. His brows furrowed, and he could not hardly look at her. Staring past her shoulder, he clenched his fists at his sides and frowned, “I could say the same about you. Do you not think that is hypocritical, professor?”

Ignorance, and the sweet bliss that came from it. She would not dare to dwell on his utterly painful response, for fear of wavering in her mission. “You’ve helped me this far, and I appreciate that, but you need to go now.”

“ _No_.”

“That is a command,” another hissed whisper laced with venom, “I know you’ve been leaving a trail for him, and if you turn back now then you can meet him.” Her heart caught in her throat painfully, “Listen, just go tell him what I’m doing, and get the army to take Fort Merceus.”

“You’re going to di-”

“I won’t,” she scowled, “And I would rather you risk your life for my husband than me.”

“What if they don’t believe you?” He retorted, “There is a chance they wouldn’t bother taking you to the Emperor at all.”

There was _always_ a chance for the unknown, it was how one dealt with the surprises that mattered. “If so, I’ll just talk them out of it.”

“Your Grace-”

“Go,” she sighed, “the faster you meet back with Dimitri and the army, the faster this war ends. I have gotten out of far worse than this before.”

He had seen her cut through the sky itself. He had seen her attack the Death Knight head on. He had seen her eat Flayn’s food without dying. 

Loyalty and duty waged a civil war within him. Dedue was never the type of be indecisive, but this moment was something entirely new. To stay and keep the King’s wife safe, or to go back to the King himself. Dimitri would want both - preferably, going back to him with Byleth in tow. But he knew he could not drag her, and he knew she would not appreciate him knocking her out and carrying her back. 

She was her own person, that was the fact of the matter. Dedue could not make these choices for her. 

“You do understand how his Majesty will feel if you die?”

She had died _twice_ and he had survived, sort of. Third time's the charm, as her father tended to say. “It’s actually not possible for me to die, but thank you for your concern.”

Unamused, he stared, “Your hubris will be the end of you.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Stay safe.”

She grinned and dug a hand into her pocket. Out she pulled a wooden flask, the same her father was always seen with in the past. Uncorking it, she threw back a shot and took a deep breath, “I’ll try my best. I’m very good at making things up on the spot, you know.”

“...I know.”

“Give Dimitri my love.”

“I’ll… tell him you said hello.”

“Sounds good,” she put the flask away and positioned herself towards the camp, ready to commence this new change of circumstances, “see you on the other side, my friend.”

Fort Merceus. The Empire, and the end of this war. As much as Byleth smelled of booze, she held herself like a warrior. He could trust her ability to survive more than anyone else’s in the world. 

He slipped away as she moved forward through the trees. As quickly as he could, Dedue recounted his steps to follow his own bread-crumb trail. Byleth kept her shoulders back and her chin held high. Each footstep that crunched on the leaves was a warning to the camp, a sound they would hear as she approached. Through the limbs and brambles, a small group of soldiers began nearing. 

One, two, and three. She could make out the features on their faces, the surprise in their eyes at the hero’s relic at her hip, and the hair on her head. Nobody could miss her, who she truly was. She watched the realization come down upon them like a hammer. 

The chaos was immediate. She didn’t even have to do anything - these were the perks of being famous, she supposed. 

“The Archbishop!” A screech resounded through the camp, followed by a battle horn. Weapons unsheathed and bodies scrambled to attention. She took another calm step through the trees and pushed a leafy branch aside to fully reveal herself. 

The camp was small, scattered with tents and fires. Horses and pegasi reared back against the sudden wave of soldiers rushing past. Byleth raised a hand to the approaching soldiers with their swords and their scowls, “Hey.”

Confusion dawned in the most clever of her enemies, though there was no time to think of why the Archbishop herself was visiting their camp. “It’s an ambush!” One man suggested, looking to the forest around them for any sign of others. 

“No,” Byleth pulled the sword of the creator out of the spot at her hip, and held it in front of herself, “It’s just me.”

More yells from soldiers in the back of the camp, more horns blowing in the distance. She was surrounded on all sides, the group constantly joined by a greater number of her enemies. Dedue was correct, even if this was a small army, it was still far too much for her. She put her hand on the blade of the sword, the other on the handle, and held it out to the soldier who had seen her first. 

“I surrender,” her heart raced as she lied, and she hoped she looked at least a _little_ nervous, “I see the Emperor’s power, and her vision for the future.”

Gasps waved over the army. Byleth dropped to one knee and held her head low. 

“I wish to pledge my loyalty to the Adrestian Empire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is u doin baby byleth...
> 
> Also!!! I made a playlist on spotify for every opening song for this fic! I'll add a better cover picture later lol, but here u goooo
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6NgMcCRrQlBABCks1wJwzJ


	18. The Beginning of A Second Reunion of The Blaiddyds

_ Make me into something that can be understood _

_ And play pretend good, _

_ just like you should _

_ \- Meateater’ ALASKALASKA _

* * *

  
  


“I wish to pledge my loyalty to the Adrestian Empire."

A pregnant pause. A crowd of wide eyes and ready weapons. A pin could have dropped, and the sound would be deafening - at least to Byleth, who drowned out every noise possible besides 1. Her own internal screaming and 2. The sound of her own voice stumbling through an explanation.

“I-I… I mean it, I pledge my loyalty,” her knee was beginning to hurt from kneeling, and her arms were growing tired as she held her sword as an offering, “Is there, like… someone in charge I can speak to, maybe?” 

Another wash of whispers over the crowd. Suspicion rose higher than ever, conceded by the man that stood in front of her, scowling and yelling, “The Ashen Demon smells of alcohol!”

“It’s… it’s a bit rude to point out a lady’s scent.”   


“She has come here drunk!” The man’s voice grew over the crowd as he addressed them, “The Archbishop has so little respect for the Empire that she challenges us while inebriated.”

This could not be happening. In any other world, with any other person, they would have accepted her instantly. She could recall the days that soldiers would fall on their knees for the chance to fight alongside her. Jeralt _always_ smelled of alcohol, but that never seemed to be a problem then. “Did you not listen to a word I just said?”

Another voice from the back of the tittering crowd, “She mocks us with lies!”

“Okay, but what if I’m  _not_ ?”

Sudden silence once more. It fell upon the crowd like a blanket. Whispers of ‘what if she’s not?’ passed from ear to ear, mouth to mouth. Byleth kept her eyes on the ground, and smiled to herself. Dedue did not believe she had a silver tongue - and she truly did not, asking 'what if I'm not?' would never work with a group smarter than a pile of bricks. Fortunately for Byleth, she'd stumbled into the biggest pile of bricks she'd ever seen.   


“Take her to the captain?” Someone suggested. It was met with a chorus of nods and agreements. Byleth allowed her sword to be taken, and soldiers to grab her arms and force her to her feet. 

The woman who took her sword held it away from her chest as if it stunk of death, “S-Should I be carrying this? I don’t have a crest.”

“No,” another gasped, “You’ll be transformed!”

She jumped in fear, “What do I do with it then?”

“P-Put it down!”

“Can I…” Byleth twisted her head around as the soldiers dragged her away, “have that back, maybe?”

“No! Goddess,” the woman held the sword close, “are you stupid?”

She was beginning to wonder that as well. She most likely was, she'd done many things in her life that could dissolve one's brain entirely. Alcohol, several concussions, being in love. They were very dangerous activities, she'd not be surprised if her intelligence had lowered. Byleth huffed and allowed the soldiers to lead her by her arms, taking in a mental map of the camp as she stumbled by. It would not be difficult to recover her sword when she needed to, that terrified woman would most likely toss it somewhere and forget about it.   


With a rough nudge to her back, she was shoved to the largest tent in the middle of the camp. The lead  soldier stepped past her entourage to rap on the makeshift wood column holding the tent wall upright. “Captain? We’ve, uh, we’ve got the Archbishop captured. I think she's drunk.”

"I'm really not, I could easily walk a straight line."

"Captain," the soldier called again, "she's talking nonsense about pledging her loyalty to the empire. I thought you might want to deal with this."

A groan, coupled with the silhouette of a man inside of the tent. A candle flickered within as she listened to footsteps approach the door, “I told you, I’m not your captain.”

This was so obviously a captain's quarters, and so obviously where the soldiers came for guidance. There was an untouched strategy table beside the entrance, a pile of books on the ground. The air smelled of tea more so than meat in this part of the camp, a scent that calmed her senses almost immediately. Byleth watched as the flap swung open. Her eyes met his, and a shock of lightning bolted through her vein.  


“Lindhart!” Byleth nearly melted in place, held up only by the hands of her captors, “I'm so happy to see you! Wow," she could not help her chuckle, "you're a captain now? I never would've thought you'd want to do that!"  


“You're right, I don't, and I'm not.” he blinked in surprise and rubbed his eyes, as if trying to convince himself that she was real. He looked as lazy and tired as ever, his cheeks pale and his movements slow. He appraised Byleth with narrowed eyes, entirely disinterested, "So, you’re an Archbishop now?”

She sighed, “Unfortunately.”

He tsked and took a step back, “Yeah you’re telling me, that must be terrible. Talk about boring jobs."  


With her arms pulled back by the soldiers, all she could do was nod her head and grimace. “Yeah, it’s only temporary though, I was just trying to join the Empire in an attempt to get out of it.”

The soldiers around her shifted uncomfortably. “Captain-“

“Not your captain.”

“- I’m not really sure what to do with her…”

Lindhart would have laughed aloud if he were not so tired. Smiling and snorting under his breath, he reached out a hand to take Byleth’s arm, “Let her go, she’s harmless.”

“S-She’s really not-“

“She’s fine,” he rolled his eyes, “she’s about as dangerous as a rabbit.”

A lie, though the men did not wish to argue with the captain - he usually dozed off halfway through the arguments and orders anyhow. Byleth grinned as Lindhart led her into his tent and snapped the door closed. The sound of uncomfortable shuffling remained outside. 

“They’ll leave in a minute,” he yawned and stumbled to his tea pot, the source of that comforting smell. The kettle sat on a table with no chairs, surrounded by an _absurd_ amount of pillows, and at least two different mattresses in the most warm spots of the tent. Byleth had never seen such a comfortable looking spot in a war-camp.  


“So,” he snapped his fingers and held a flame spell under the tea pot, leaning in to focus as he spoke, “What’s your _true_ intention for this visit?”

Byleth could not help but smile once more. Lindhart had always delighted her to some degree. She found that she respected his utter lack of respect, and had tried to convince him to join her class several times. He simply forgot to do the required paperwork on each occasion. Byleth took a seat, hugging a pillow closely in her lap, “I have an intense and undying love for Edelgard and the Empire.”

A pointed glance, a raised brow in pure skepticism, “I know you’re lying.”

There was no point with him. “I want to get a free escort to Enbarr so I can kill her.”

Unaffected, he grimaced at the boiling teapot, “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Well, _someone_ has to do it.”

“Yes, but,” with a sigh, he poured a cup of Almyran pine-needle blend into a chipped cup, one she recognized from the dining hall years ago. It had seen better days, though she was happy it found a relatively safe home with the scholar, “I don’t think I can help you with that in good conscience.”

Byleth sighed, “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to even be here.”

It seemed that neither did he. “Yes, unfortunately," a grimace and a slow eye roll, "here I am.”

“...Your hair looks nice.”

“Oh, thank you, but flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Right,” a heavy sigh and another squeeze of her pillow. She folded her legs underneath her and held the warm cup between her hands, “I’m just eager, I suppose.” It felt like it had been forever since she'd had a peaceful tea time. Annette always wanted to invite Felix, or talk about spells. And Mercedes was busy with her expectations of Dedue's proposal. And Dimitri was, obviously, not an option at the time. She was sure he'd accept, but the sheer awkwardness would suffocate her.   


Lindhart narrowed his eyes over the rim of the cup, “I must say, your plan to kill the Emperor surprises me. You’ve never been particularly bloodthirsty before, professor.”

He was far more perceptive than he ever would let on. Byleth felt her shoulders drop again, the world resettling itself back onto her. “It’s all my husband, I guess. He’s rubbed off on me.”

Lindhart had never looked so taken aback. “I didn’t know you were married, where’s your ring?”

“Oh,” she looked at her hand as the melancholy set in again, how she wished to have the rest of that rice wine, “we’re taking a break from each other. He kind of… he kind of went a bit off the wall, which was fine-“

“It was fine to go off the wall?”

“Yes,” a solemn nod and silent sip of tea, “he had a terrible time the last five years, or really _most_ of his life has been terrible. So I understand the source of his trauma… but then I gave him one last chance, he refused it, and..." she took a breath to keep herself from rambling at top speeds, "I took a knife for him, as one does."  


“Did you?”

“Right here,” her fingers brushed against the tender spot on her abdomen, “and I fell asleep into this thing dragons do to heal-“

“Dragons?”

“ _Dragons,_ " another deep breath, another reminder to _slow down_. Byleth hardly ever felt like her tongue could run a marathon, the anxiety of the situation begun to rattle her non-beating heart, a feeling she had only started to recognize in her later years. She missed when she was emotionless. "And when I awoke, he was suddenly better. And... he can’t possibly expect me to just forgive him immediately, right?"

"Right."

"So," a calming sip as she closed her eyes, "if I end this war then we can both start anew and then... forget about each other.”

Plans made, short and sweet. Lindhart’s eyes were wide with scientific interest, “So... Back to the dragon thing. C an I study you?”

Of course he would have his prerogative. She sighed and sipped her tea, “Maybe when I’m feeling better.”

It was decided. He nodded and leaned back, eyes flickering from her ears, to her hair, to the spot she was stabbed just over two months ago. He stared at her as if she was a microbe underneath a magnifying glass, about to unlock the secrets of humanity forever. “Let me guess..."

Byleth hated that phrase. She didn't want people to guess, she wanted them to wait patiently until she was ready to tell them the truth. "It's not very interesting, you don't have to listen to me ramble."

Lindhart ignored her, "It's Dimitri.”

Byleth attempted to not choke on her tea, unsuccessfully so, “H-How did you know?” She pounded on her chest and coughed into her arm, her eyes wide. That was yet another thing she liked about Lindhart, he was smart. If only he had joined her class in the past.   


“Everybody knew you were dating back then.”

“Nobody knew that!”

His gaze turned flat, “It was obvious - and inappropriate, I might add, not that it bothered me.”

She felt like breathing fire, like the dragon Lindhart thought she was. “I’m so happy that my inappropriate secret relationship didn’t bother you. Every day, I would awaken and ask myself ‘is Lindhart bothered?’ and worry would just eat away at me every second of every day.”

“How kind,” he quipped, unimpressed, yawning for the upteenth time. There was something about the half lidded eyes and the bored expression that made Byleth want to yawn and lay down as well, as if it was contagious. Yet, his following words were the complete opposite of his demeanor, “It sounds like you need to get over yourself.”

It sounds like she needs to get over herself. Her, Byleth Eisner-Blaiddyd, who could control the flow of time? Her, Byleth Eisner-Blaiddyd, who wielded the sword of the creator? Her, Byleth Eisner-Blaiddyd, who could juggle four balls at once? _She needed to get over herself?_  


She’d never been insulted in such a soft voice before. Confusion flashed over her face as Lindhardt gave a slow blink. As he began to register the offense, he could not help but smile, “I do understand your anger, but really professor, why can’t you be happy for him?”

Why couldn’t she be happy for Dimitri? Why couldn’t she just celebrate with the rest of her allies and eat cake all day into the sunset? The question felt like a slap to the face. “I-I thought you were smarter than that, Lin.”

“I am.”

He was. She knew that, somewhere deep in her mind, buried behind the fortress made to keep her safe. With every scowl from Dimitri, yet another stone was added. With every kiss, every mood swing, every longing look, every yell, the fortress grew taller and _taller_. Until finally, she was threatening to close up the wall for good, and Dimitri took the initiative to put the last stone on the top. 

“He chose Edelgard,” Byleth spat, “He played with my emotions like clay for so long. And I know he was ill - _is_ ill - but I can only take so much before I crack.”

“Yeah,” Lindhardt shrugged and set his tea down, “I’ve heard about how he is, pretty much everybody knows what he is - or, _was_ , I suppose. He ran off on his own without telling you, trying to kill Edelgard because he believed that would fix all of his problems, right?”  She blinked in surprise. He offered a lazy smile, “Bernadetta saw the whole thing.”

The ring as she abandoned it, the screaming, the knife. Bernadetta would have killed Dimitri or Rodrigue if Flèche did not - and if Flèche failed in killing either of them, she would kill Byleth. Such is time, and it’s unfair rules. Bernadetta would have easily seen the dramatics play out from her vantage point during the battle, like a fly on the wall.  


She scowled at the sudden realization, “You knew I was married. You were just acting ignorant to coax a reaction out of me?”

“Well, technically I thought you were simply engaged to each other," he flipped his hand nonchalantly, "And I wanted to know the true logic behind this suicide mission you’re on.”

Suicide mission and intents. He was beginning to dig far too deeply for her patience to handle, “You know all of this, and you’re still taking his side?”

“Not at all, I don’t really care, to be honest. But if you wake me up and start lying to me then I have no other option but to get to the bottom of things. You’re angry that your husband ran off and found more importance in vengeance than you,” he paused, and took a sip of tea, “so your reaction is to do the exact same thing?”

Byleth had never realized how grateful she was that Lindhart had never joined her class before. She would have gone insane teaching him.   


“I-It was a lot of low moments for us," She gripped her pillow tighter, wanting an excuse to strangle something, "And so _much_ disappointment. I spent months with the man I love being cold and absolutely terrible to me!"  


“And... is he cold and terrible to you _now_?”

Dimitri looked at her like a prisoner looked at the sun. He cast her these glances that struck her to her very core. He spoke gently, softly, with every waking second a reminder of the man she had originally fallen in love with, if not sadder, and worlds wiser.  Byleth did not have an answer for Lindhart. She looked down, avoiding his eyes as she thought of how Dimitri had been. Who she fell in love with originally, that humility and that kindness, that compassion. It was there, and she'd always known that. Once upon a time, she told herself she would never give up on finding it again. 

Lindhart grimaced against her silence and held up a hand, “Let me tell you a story. Caspar kept getting into fights, and he spilled soup on me once in the dining hall because he punched a guard while holding it. This was the fourth time it had happened, so I told him to cut it out. I felt like I was cracking, then.”

He brought her out of the clouds and back down to Fodlan with the absurdity of his soup story, “...Okay, and?”

“But then he stopped fighting in the dining hall when I was around. And I forgave him, and was happy for his improvement," he sighed and sipped his tea in thought, "I appreciated the work he put into trying to not punch people while holding bowls of soup. I could have been angry forever, and in _some_ cases that’s okay. But Caspar is my friend, and I care about him. So I just… _didn_ ’t stay angry.”

He just didn’t stay angry. He just forgave him. He stopped getting soup spilled on him all the time. It was a charming thought, to resolve matters of the heart so easily. Byleth sighed and rested her cheek in her palm, realizing that she did not hate Lindhart at all. “When did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise, you’ve just never listened to me before.”

It was someone like him that should be a professor at the Academy. She always gave the wrong answers, she did not understand social matters, she did not even understand herself. “What if he hates me because of Edelgard taking my inventions?”

That caught his attention. He sat up, eyes wide, “Inventions?”

“The blackpowder-”

“Blackpowder?”

Wary, she leaned away, “Yes, you were there, weren’t you?”

“Where?”

“...Derdriu?”

“Oh, no,” he shook his head, “I was asleep outside the city.”

That explained a lot. She sighed, “A while ago I found these blueprints for inventions that Rhea confiscated long ago, so I used them. And then Edelgard used them at Derdriu and killed a bunch of innocents. I’m… Goddess, Lin, I’m so damn angry. I cannot believe she would do such a thing.”

She could see the light flickering behind his eyes, the constant swirl of thought and processing. He pursed his lips and glanced away, staring at the ground, “I… I don’t think I can believe that either. She’s always tried to avoid civilian deaths.”

“Well, _now_ she doesn’t.”

“And she always comes to me about new inventions and discoveries…” he looked up at her with wide eyes, shining in the candlelight, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before. I know of what happened at Gronder, but the Emperor has never shown interest in recreating such a thing.”

Her heart slowed in it’s nonexistent beat. She gasped, suddenly out of breath, “Then who would?”

“Anyone,” another shrug and nonchalant roll of his eyes, “but I would bet gold on Lord Arundel. He was the one overseeing the siege. And he’s... “

Arundel, a black haired man with a pale face and inquisitive eyes. When he visited the Academy, he would always look at Byleth as if studying every inch of her and planning her death. The very thought of Edelgard’s uncle brought a chill to her arms, raising the goosebumps along her skin. “He’s creepy.”

“Right,” Lindhart squinted in thought, “And I’ve noticed things, too, about these people Edelgard is working with. They’re not really normal.”

Solon, Kronya. Skin so pale it was nearly grey, eyes that shined like a cat’s in the dark. There was something about this world that was beyond her understanding, beyond any human’s understanding. She was part of that something, after all.  “So you think it’s Arundel who gave the order to kill those people?”

“Probably,” he grimaced bitterly, “the Emperor has tried to spare every life she can.”

“I think we’re fighting two different wars here, Lin.”

He chuckled, “No, you’re just stressed out and seeing the worst. Which, I mean, is everything because it’s war. But Edelgard isn’t a bad person, she’s just paving a road with good intentions, and doesn’t realize that it’s leading to hell. But, I mean... so are you.”

Byleth was beginning to despise these comparisons, good intentions or not. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going off to kill her, right?” He waved a hand and yawned, “That’ll just end up with you dead, the church without a leader, and Dimitri without a wife. Think about the consequences of those things - complete chaos. And even though we’re not on the same side,” leaning back into his bed, he rested his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, “I’ve always agreed with his Majesty’s ideology. If the world is set ablaze, who can put the fire out?”

Dimitri had said that once upon a time. It felt like eons ago. “We can fix this world and it’s problems without war.”

“Right. But of course these people,” he gestured towards his tent door, “don’t really get to have an opinion on that, despite the war affecting every aspect of their lives. They’ll be the ones expected to pick up the ashes, but they won’t even understand why it was burned in the first place. Half of them don’t even know the Emperor’s name.”

“... And yet they still die as a result of choices made by people like me.”

“Professor,” he gave her a flat look, “those people in Derdriu died because Lord Arundel is a terrible person.”

And a terrible person she was not - she was, but not _that_ terrible, not ‘blow up a ship full of innocents’ terrible. And she could live with her level of terrible, as long as it never got worse. Sighing, she held Lindhardt’s cold fingers, “Will you join our army?”

“...Nah.”

Her gaze fell instantly, “Why not?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “but at least I’m not the one that left their spouse behind for some stupid suicide mission.”

“Yes, bu-”

“And broke his heart.”

“Yeah-”

“ _And_ refuses to have a normal adult conversation with him.”

“Lin, I’m the victim here.”

“Yeah, but you're also a hypocrite. Too prideful to admit you’re scared, huh professor?”

She gasped, “Scared? You think I’m _scared_?”

“Yep.”

“I am not!”

“You’re terrified he’ll hurt you again. Come on, professor,” Lindhart rolled onto his side and rested his head on his arm, “you’re letting fear make your decisions… And you’re kind of boring me.” 

“Oh I’m so sorry I’m boring you!”

“Apologies aren’t needed, but I forgive you.”

“ _Wonderful_ , so what do I do next?”

He groaned and covered his eyes with his arm, “Must I spell out every step? Stop being a child and go talk to him.”

Stop being a child says the man who despised responsibility. She frowned, she huffed, she angrily sipped her tea. After a moment long enough for Lindhart to finally close his eyes, she broke the comfortable silence once more, “So no escort to Enbarr?”

“Not on your life.”

“I can’t even borrow a pegasus? I promise I’ll return it.”

“Steal a pegasus from your own army.”

That would have worked, if Ingrid did not guard them like a dog with sheep. “I don’t want to, I want these pegasi.”

He sat up again, hair sticking up on one side and mouth formed into a grumpy frown. His eyes were flat, unamused, “You can stay the night here, but please do not wake me again. And you have to leave tomorrow morning.”

So the plan was set. She would not get her escort, but she would not be dying by the hands of angry Imperial soldiers either. It was a compromise of sorts, she could handle that. Sighing, she glanced around the tent at the pile of pillows, “Do I just… pick a spot?”

Lindhart sighed. A condescending, annoyed sound. 

Byleth rolled her eyes and lay on a set of embroidered couch pillows, shifting to make herself comfortable. Books lay around the tent as recklessly as the pillows themselves, sometimes serving as the cushion under Lindhart’s head if he was exhausted enough.  Finally, silence. Sweet, empty, silence. The golden glow of the candle flickered shadows against the tent walls, and Lindhart could not help but sigh in satisfaction of a lecture well-given. He could still hear the professor’s prideful huffing across the way. 

But of course, as most wonderful things in life, the silence did not last. 

“Captain! Captain!” Rapid hands pushed against the buttoned tent entrance, haggard breathing with a scream in the distance following, “There’s another intruder! This time it’s… i-it’s-”

The sound of something very large and heavy falling in the distance. Dishes and silverware clashed wildly, it had to be the supplies caravan. Another scream, footsteps rushing by outside, and cries for help. Lindhart kept his eyes closed, and stayed silent. 

Byleth sat up, but was immediately shushed by him, “Stay down. Just… Just let it happen.”

“You’re so damn lazy,” she ignored his command and stood from her pillows, “your camp is under attack and you’re just going to keep sleeping?”

He shrugged, “I didn’t _ask_ to be captain.”

“So you admit that you are?”

“Not in the least. I’m just stating a fact.”

“Come on,” she nudged his side with the tip of her boot, “We’ve got to help. Jermitri is out there.”

Jermitri. Jermitri? His eyes snapped open, “Who’s Jermitri?”

“That’s what I named my sword. We’ve got to get it”

“Like… Jeralt and Dimitri? Jermitri?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Nothing, it's just funny,” he sat up and sighed, rubbing his eyes, “but I do agree, we cannot let Jermitri be stolen. I’ve yet to research it.”

“That’s the spirit,” she grinned and made for the tent door, watching the shadows of soldiers fly by with torches and weapons in hand. Another set of screams, and another loud crash that reverberated through the night. In the distance, Byleth made out an angry glow spreading across the grass. “It’s complete chaos out there.”

He groaned like a child, “That’s exactly why I want to stay _here_.”

Her stomach churned as she unbuttoned the entrance and stuck her head out, smelling the lingering smoke in the air, mixed with the metallic touch of blood. It was sickeningly familiar, “The fire will reach your tent at some point-”

“Fire?” Byleth had never seen Lindhart sit up so quickly. It was as if he’d been given a shot of energy, scrambling around to grab every book he could fit into his arms. He muttered and rambled under his breath while piling tomes atop each other. “Let’s go, let’s go, _hurry_.”

She had never been _hurried_ by this man. She had never seen him hurry either. He nearly shoved her aside as he raced from the tent and tottered towards the cold forest’s edge, away from the fire. She looked back at him, “I’m going to find my sword!”   
  


He raised one shaky hand, “Whatever! I’ll be over here saving our treasures!" His books, and nothing else.  


The onslaught of this attack had dissolved the air of comradery. There were no songs sung around the fire, and the meat that had smelled so wonderful had been knocked over. Bodies lay helplessly around the edges of the camp, as if the attacker had gone after the watchmen before making their move into the center.  A golden pulse of energy caught her eye. Her heart jumped into her chest as she ran to the woman’s body laying over the sword of the creator. “Sorry, really, I’m sorry.” The frantic apologies would not bring this woman back to life, but it managed to soothe the Archbishop as she yanked her sword out from under her still warm corpse. 

With the toe of her boot, she turned the body over. It was a clean cut that had killed her, one perfect slash across her abdomen, red and angry and turning into a puddle in the grass. Sighing, Byleth turned away and walked through the chaos and fire with her sword in hand, her heart in her stomach and her senses on high alert.  


Screams and flames engulfed the world. It drowned out all noise besides one fatal, horrifying, _familiar_ , yell. 

“Where is she?!”

Of course. _Of damn course._ Who else did she expect?

Her blood ran hot and furious in her veins, and her hand began to shake with anger. Without another thought, she froze in place, and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, come here _right_ _now!”_

It was like calling a child, or a dog. The Dimitri-sized figure silhouetted by the smoke stiffened, the lance in his hand stopping mid-jab. He hunched his shoulders, and turned. Byleth watched his silhouette against the lights, clouded by the chaos and ash rising into the sky. He had the cloak, the furs, the height, the wild hair. She would not mistake the visage of her husband anywhere. 

He straightened up and twisted his lance behind his back, turning to wipe the tip into the ground as if he was trying to clean up before confronting his wife. He cleared his throat and waved the smoke away, “Byleth? Is that you?”

She rolled her eyes at the utter innocence lacing his voice. “Who the hell else do you think it is? Come _here_.”

“Are you…” he spun around to find her aimlessly, “Am I hearing things again?”

He would not put it past himself, he’d had an extremely long day chasing down his wife through the forest. He spun around once more, his back to the direction her voice had appeared from. And suddenly, through the heat and the eye-stinging ash and the cries for help, a small hand gripped his cloak and pushed him forward against the trunk of a tree. 

He had his balance immediately. Byleth’s touch was unmistakable, he knew the feeling of her hands like his own. Twisting around, he did not look down at the woman as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his chest. She stiffened, and he knew he should not push his luck by holding her, but he could not help the feeling of relief that washed over him like sand on the beach. He buried his nose in her mint hair and inhaled, as if to memorize the scent itself. 

“You’re safe,” he squeezed his eye shut and whispered, “Thank you, thank heavens. I’m so happy to have found you.”

A beat of silence. The crackle of the fire was almost calming if it were not burning down an entire campsite. Slowly, her hand traveled up his chest, to his neck - he shivered shamelessly at the feeling - and to the back of his head. Reveling in the movement, he sighed. 

And she gripped his hair, and yanked his head back with all of her strength, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Dimitri’s hands floundered to release her grip from his messily pulled ponytail, “I-I came to find you! Dedue told me that you were in the enemy’s camp!”

“Did he not tell you that I _chose_ to be here?!”

“He did!” He managed to push her fingers from his hair, rubbing the spot where a tension headache was beginning to form. Sighing, he took a step back, “And I do not agree with your plan at all. Do you not understand what will happen to the world if you die?”

“How ironic,” Byleth sneered, putting her hands on her hips and staring up at him. Their chests were close, their mouths near enough to feel each other’s breaths, but they could not be further apart in opinion. “It’s so funny that the mad king himself is telling me to not get myself killed!”

Hypocrite, hypocrite. Byleth felt the words in her chest. Linhardt had not even been around to know the full story, yet he pegged her as absolutely, inexplicably, a hypocrite. 

Dimitri looked at her with such pain. His hair fell into his face over his eyepatch. His good eye was lined by dark circles, and the stubble on his cheeks betrayed just how long he’d spent looking for her - Dimitri rarely let his facial hair grow out past the hint of a shadow.  She gulped and raised another hand. He flinched against her movement, causing another bolt of guilt to wrack her body. Biting her lip, she rested her fingers on the exposed skin of his neck, under his ear. Slowly, carefully, she ran her thumb across the strap of his eyepatch. 

“I’m so sorry.”

A whisper barely heard under the crackle of the fire and chaos around them. Dimitri’s good eye widened in shock. 

“I really am,” hot, angry tears filled her eyes as her throat choked, “I should not be acting this way. But I’m… G-Goddess, I’m terrified, Dima. I’m so scared.”

Hesitance, and his own version of fear. Slowly, he raised a hand to rest against hers on his neck. He wore gloves, but she could feel the warmth through the fabric. “Beloved, what are you scared of?”

The nickname was like a punch to the stomach. She gulped down another wave of tears, “I don’t know. Lindhart just told me I was.”

His gaze fell into immediate confusion,  “What?”

“I-I think,” she hiccuped and gasped, “I think it’s that I don’t want to be hurt again, and that I don’t want to hurt you. But I’ve been doing that this whole time,” she trailed her hand down his chest and rested it serenely against his armor, “I’ve hurt you so much, and I’m sorry.”

Dimitri regained himself within seconds. The Blaiddyds were all hands, soft touches and longing grazes. He didn’t know exactly where to place himself, other than in front of her, holding her, feeling her. “I’ve hurt you too, I’ve been a boar for so long, and it wasn’t fair to you at all.”

The dam broke on her tears. It was one of her rare moments of crying, and it never was pleasant. She took a sharp inhale for air while her cheeks burned hot. Salty tears fell down her chin, frantically wiped away by the back of her hand.  She could not help but wonder what exactly was wrong with her? She did not feel that she was crying from fear, or from hurt, or mourning. She didn’t know _why_ one usually cried, and if there had to be a reason for it. That sounded like something Mercedes would tell her, sometimes someone just cried because they needed to. 

Disgusting human emotions. Byleth hated every second of it. 

Frustrated, she groaned and buried her face into her palms. Dimitri’s hands fluttered around her bowed head, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, offering a comforting pat on the shoulder, brushing his fingers against her scalp in an attempt to provide comfort. “Beloved? What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m just,” she scowled into her wet palms, “I’m just so stupid! And I’m a really bad wife. I’ve been a complete hypocrite, torturing you this entire time just because of some sick pride I have.”

She felt his arms snake around her waist once more. It was her favorite spot in the world, his arms. “You’re a wonderful wife, and you’re only human, as am I.”

“I-I want to be better!” Red-faced, she craned her neck to look up at him, “I want to be a better human for you.”

“As will I,” he brushed his thumb across her cheek, “You make me want to be better.”

“Can we… grow together?”

"Yes, beloved." His forehead rested on hers. Their noses brushed against each other, hot breath fanning both sets of cheeks. Byleth closed her eyes and took in the scent of her husband, evergreen and smoke. Smoke. Like the burning camp around her. 

As quickly as it happened, Byleth yanked back, “The camp! We need to help the survivors! Goddess, Dimitri,” her eyes glazed over the bodies on the ground, “did you have to go all out like this?”

He gawked, his lips parted and good eye wide with surprise, "I thought you were in danger!”

She put her hands on her hips and huffed, “I need to find Lindhart, and put out these fires before the entire mountain is set ablaze… A-And where is Dedue?”

Dimitri blanked, “I think… he went that way…”

He did not even point in a direction. He had _no idea_ where Dedue even was. She groaned, “I can use a few water spells to put the fires out, you just make sure there’s no stragglers.”

“Right.” He bowed, just like he used to. His corn-flake hair dipped into his face as he closed his good eye, just like old times. He was so formal, just like before. He was so wonderfully polite, just like before. He was so damn protective, just like _before_. 

This could not wait another second, to hell with a burning camp.   


Dimitri straightened up as Byleth made her move. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she stretched onto her tip toes, not a second passing before her lips pushed against his. There was not an inch of space between them, not a breath to be felt between the kiss they shared. 

He could have melted. He could have been a puddle on the ground. It was instinctual, second nature, as he gripped each side of her waist and yanked her body even closer to his. Every inch of him hungered for this, for _her_. He dug his fingers into her hips and deepened the kiss. There was one, and then another, the hint of her tongue brushing against his lips brought a fire to his body he did not think was possible any longer. She tilted her head and pushed in deeper, quickly running out of air as he took another step back, his shoulders leaning against a tree. The world could have ended, and neither of them would notice.   


Byleth ended the moment far too early. She pulled her body away, from the safety under his hands and the warmth of his chest. The look she cast him was sly, knowing, coupled with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen her wear. 

Dimitri did not realize he was speaking until the words were fully out. “Will you marry me?”

Byleth's grin grew into a smirk, “I’m kind of busy right now. Sorry.”

“Later, then?”

“I’ll think about it after we put out this fire.”

“O-Okay,” he felt as if he had no air, as if Byleth had stolen it straight from his lungs. Every inch of his body buzzed with pure want, pure excitement at the kiss he thought would never happen again, “I’ll hold that to you.”

Byleth pulled away. She walked backwards, her steps turning into a slow jog. Awkwardly, she shot him a smile laced with uncertainty. She bit her lip, brushed her hair behind her ear, and appraised him as if she didn’t what to think - as if she was questioning her own decisions.  “You know,” a hesitant smile, “I’m still kind of mad at you.”

His heart fell, “I… I understand.”

“But…” she sighed, “I think I want to be at your side, still.”

She could be a million miles away, and he would be happy if _she_ was happy. She could marry another man and have 10 children that were not his own, and he would still celebrate. She could despise every inch of his soul, and he’d wish her well nonetheless. She made him want to drop to his knees and thank the Goddess for even an ounce of her attention. 

He truly had it bad. He always did. Every feeling accumulated into this specific moment, standing in a burning enemy camp.  “I don’t deserve you, By.”

“Yes you do,” her gaze flattened, “but we’ll talk about that later. We have a war to end.”

He could argue against that all day if allowed. There was not much time left to talk, though Dimitri could not ignore the nagging feeling prodding at his chest. Byleth had yet to lose that determined glimmer in her eyes, that frown that said more than she ever would. “Beloved?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned, raising one silent brow. 

He had to be loud to be heard over the fire, though he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the background with her. “What else are you planning? I know when… w-when you’ve got your mind set onto something, it is not easily changed.”

“Well,” Byleth gestured around her to the inferno they stood in - it was getting quite hot by this time, “I didn't come here for nothing. I’m still planning to assassinate Edelgard, or at least make it easier for _you_ to do so.”

To assassinate Edelgard. To leave behind her army and take on the Emperor by herself. She was as prideful as ever, a trait he had found amusingly charming in the past. He saw the danger of it now, and the reflection of his own illness in her face. 

The difference with Byleth, though, was that she was not very far gone. She had not traveled by herself through the wilderness for five years, exiled from her own country. She was simply angry, simply pressured, trying to drag her body through a battle with the world weighing her down. With the force that she was, he knew he could not stop her with a few simple words. 

Dimitri was not a conniving man. He was not much into manipulation. He thought the same way he fought, head on and aiming for the first mark that caught his attention. Taking another step to Byleth, he held out his hand, “Let’s go together, just you and I. Allow me to be by your side.”

Byleth was taken aback. She furrowed her brows, putting a hand to her chest and stepping away. Glancing to the side - noting Lindhardt fussing over his spell books on the edge of the burning camp - she took a deep breath. She had not planned for anyone to be at her side with this mission, she had not thought it through that deeply. 

“Alright,” a rare smile, filled with hesitance, but genuine nonetheless, “if you can keep up.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I caved in and made a twitter where I'll talk about my stories, different ideas for fics, headcanons, updates, and just generally book/writing/literature/language stuff that I like!   
> It's @morimitsuboo 
> 
> Love you all <3


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